If Protocol Allows
by Sudonim
Summary: The Neighborhood Watch has been done away with and the village has cooled down, but while Nick is doing his best to ‘shut off’ and connect, Danny is trying to ‘turn on,’ but is it really what Nick wants anymore? NicholasDanny Hot Fuzz SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

"Angel!" Sergeant Tony Fisher yelled in the other Sergeant's face, leaning across the desk and snapping his fingers under his coworker's nose.

Nicholas Angel jumped in his seat, floundering momentarily before bracing his hands against the edge of his desk, and gritting his teeth as he looked up slowly to meet Tony's gaze.

"Yes, _Sergeant_?" Nicholas spat, holding his temper to the best of his ability.

His anger was more than apparent; apart from going white-knuckled almost immediately, he was on more familiar terms with the other officers as of late, calling everyone by first names and usually refraining from titles completely, even around civilians.

"You've a call," Tony replied, sounding a bit hurt. "From _Lun-din_ again."

Nicholas ignored the stressed mispronunciation of their nation's capitol, sighing inwardly as he watched Tony slouch away, realizing he'd somehow managed to hurt the man's feelings.

"Oi, Tony, suck it the fuck up," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he swung his hand rapidly over to his phone, hovering just above the receiver as he waited for the call to be put through.

It was nearly eight months since the village of Sandford had experienced the horror of bloody, guerilla warfare, and seven and one quarter of the intervening months had been happily uneventful and Met-free. The last three weeks, however, had delivered him at least one phone call a day from the Chief Inspector, or worse, his contemporary desk jockey, Sergeant Liam Nash, a listless and intuitive chap who'd taken the easy way off the streets after a homeless hermaphrodite in a Superman costume tried to break his arm over a pair of shoes.

Ah, the good old days. Nicholas shuddered. The phone rang. He grabbed it, shoved it to his face, and waited for the ranting to begin.

"Angel," Nash's voice came in clearly, despite the ancient technology. "How's the boyfriend?"

Nicholas nearly choked on his own spit.

"Excuse me, _Sergeant_," he replied, coughing sporadically for a moment. He was pleasantly surprised that he'd been able to use one of his favorite chastising phrases twice that day, and it wasn't even lunch yet.

"Officer Butterman is not my …_boyfriend_… Even if he were, which you must know is completely against regulations, we are even further banned from discussing relationships while working, be they inter- or extra-office-related."

Nash scoffed, the sound digging up fond memories of his old Met beat he'd been trying to quash for the past few months. His old partner reminded him in many ways of Danny, except that they somehow also managed to be entirely different in the same instance: They both liked action movies, but Liam was more casual about them. They both liked to entertain people, except Danny had less rigidity about him. They both liked Italian food, comic books, drinking too much and imaging amazingly complex and outrageous chase-related fights, but Liam preferred to cook himself while Danny ordered out, Danny's comics were less organized but more diverse, Liam could hold his liquor better, and Danny's fights always ended in explosions while Liam's had spectacular car crashes.

"Seriously, Nick," Liam continued, his professional tone completely gone, "How are things with Danny?"

Nicholas sighed, resting his head in his hand, his elbow on his desk, and his common sense in a dark, unhappy corner of his brain.

"Things are…complicated," Nicholas replied, eyeing the inexplicably empty office warily before grabbing the phone cradle and pulling it toward him, plucking at the duc tape that kept the unit together. They'd been messing about, celebrating Doris's birthday with a piñata shaped like the head of the American president, when one of the Andy's swung far too wide and smashed the phone to bits.

They'd called it prophecy at the time. Nicholas had called it grounds to buy a new phone, one that wasn't older than the Queen, but when he'd seen Danny smiling his arse off, playing the master duc tape technician, gathering all the little bits together on the floor and piecing them back together, he couldn't help but let him have his fun.

"So you love him, then?" Liam asked, a slight chill lacing the too-straightforward question, making any answer Nicholas gave very, very dangerous.

"Liam," Nicholas murmured, sighing in earnest now, running his free hand through his very short hair.

"It's not like with you and me. This is different. This is…"

"You mean it's not just tension-relief-fucking?" Liam offered, the cold honesty making both of them bite their tongues for a moment.

"Liam," Nicholas tried again, "this is going to sound far more cliché than I would ever willingly choose to be, but…I've really changed, you know?"

He heard Liam exhale against the mouth piece on his end, and the distant sound of aggravated chair wheels told him his old friend was having a good spin around the office with his phone.

"For his sake, Angel, I hope so," Liam replied.

The way he said Nicholas's last name, with such sweetness and care, told him what Nicholas had already suspected in all the recent phone calls: Kenneth was tired of Liam dragging about like a love-sick puppy.

This Constabulary bit was a total load, but at least it would get Liam back out on the streets where everyone knew he belonged.

Nicholas heard a door open in the distance, and a sharp bang and rattle of glass told him somebody was about to burst in on him having a good mope with his ex partner.

"Sorry, gotta fly, love," Nicholas murmured hurriedly. "Somebody's-"

Danny stormed in, his iPod blaring some ridiculous 80's rock music, totally oblivious to Nicholas's presence. He was dancing as he walked, making him look excessively foolish, and Nicholas wondered for only a moment why his partner was there on his day off, a thought which was immediately discarded as his brain overloaded at the alarming prospect of Danny catching him on the phone with Lun-din; everyone in Sandford was convinced that Nicholas was only a heartbeat away from leaving them, especially Danny.

"I'll let you go," he barely heard Liam say, as he'd allowed the receiver to float slowly away from his head in a desperate attempt to get it back in the cradle before Danny took notice. "But you'd better well call me in the future, too, Angel-dear."

"Yeah, sure," Nicholas barely whispered, ignoring Liam's teasing, the phone hitting the cradle and sliding across the desk in one rapid downward movement of his hand, rocking back quickly on his chair and feigning innocent boredom, in case Danny should look up from his musical distraction.

Liam and Danny were so similar and so different, but a part of him told him that it was really he who had to change. He had to spend less time thinking about making everyone else seem different.


	2. Chapter 2

"What're you doing?" Nicholas asked, though the excessive volume of the music pumping into Danny's ears most definitely made it impossible for him to hear. He waved his right hand a bit to accentuate his attempt at communication.

Seeing the visual cue, Danny finally stopped swaying and plucked the earbuds from his head, letting them dangle uselessly from the iPod strapped to his right arm.

"Oi, mate, sorry," Danny replied, giving him a goofy grin, as he crossed quickly to Nicholas's desk.

Nicholas noted with a mixture of satisfaction and approval that Danny was out of breath and a bit sweaty; he'd been running again, making it the second time this week, and it was only Tuesday yet. He'd offered to run with Danny, but after the first two trips, they'd gone their separate ways. That was two months ago. Danny was still running.

And Danny looked _good…_

'_Stop it_,' he told his brain, the compiled stimuli of hot/sweaty/breathless/attractive Danny not making him any more lucid than his already-addled brain seemed to be as of late.

"Thought you'd wanna hear about _this_," Danny said importantly, ripping a copy of The Guardian off Tony's nearby desk; he must have set it there when he danced in, though if he had Nicholas had somehow managed to miss it.

Splashed across the front page was a story Nicholas had long been dreading:

'Cult Leaders Skinner and Butterman Escape Prison_'_

_"Bluh-dee-HELL_," Nicholas cursed, horrified and confused expressions clashing on his face. "What've we heard so far? The precincts out of Westchestershire and Abottonhill-"

"On alert since 21:00 last night," Danny replied without prompt.

"The old Watch system?" Nicholas inquired.

"Still functioning, though I think the Andy's have taken over the inn cameras for themselves, if you know what I mean," said Danny with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Those Armenian girls aren't still in town, are they?" Nicholas groaned, shaking his head as Danny let out a burst of laughter at his friend's expense.

"Tell them we need those lenses," Nicholas continued, unabashed. "We'll need Cartwright on watch most of the time; he's got the best eyes, more perceptive, he is. We should get Wainwright and the dog on farm patrol, just make sure they don't get too far ahead of themselves and start arresting suspicious heifers or anything."

"You're splitting the Andy's?" Danny asked, giving Nicholas an disparaging look. "They're nothing if not a team, Nick. Besides, the last time you tried to play reassign-the-team-roster, you wound up handcuffed to your squad car and spray-painted lime green."

Nicholas gave him a steady, withering glare. He did _not_ want to discuss that incident. He'd simply assumed it was hazing, as he was still the new cop in town and had a great many local customs to familiarize himself with yet, thereby ignoring the idea that, possibly, his team thought he was a flaming wanker.

"They don't get anything done when they're together, so yes, I'm splitting them," Nicholas reaffirmed. His tone was forceful and too self-sure, but Danny knew a losing battle when he was stuck half-way through one.

"So should I go buy some turpentine now, then?" he joked, though Nicholas didn't seem to find it funny in the least.

"Or do you think they'll try something different than paint and handcuffs this time?"

Nicholas choked on his own spit again, Danny's wording off by just enough to make his ears turn red, and as he gathered himself, he heard a loud crashing overhead; the Andy's were trying to find the lockbox he'd stashed all the paint in, again…

"Oi, cut it out up there!" Nicholas yelled at the ceiling, taking the opportunity to hop out of his seat and flee the room.

"Yeah, no boffing in the office!" Danny called up at them, laughing all the while.

It hit Nicholas hard, though, like some sort of foreshadowing, or really more like a thinly veiled denial. He hadn't even _considered_ taking things further with Danny for a long, long time, especially by measure of his past relationships; he had a tendency to jump right into the thick of things by a few weeks out, and he was most comfortable rushing through the difficult intimacies of initial bonding.

So why now? Why, after nine uneventful months, first trying to shake Danny off like the leech he'd taken him to be, then desperately attempting to turn him into a _good cop_, and finally trying to convince himself that he wouldn't break into bits after getting out of the hospital, why did he feel so drawn to him?

It had to be the late nights. Working in such close proximity and for prolonged periods of time was giving him a false sense of security and camaraderie, which he mistook for attraction.

Or could it be his new habits? Danny's hands had become nearly welded to the protocol manuals, studying the present guidelines and comparing them to older editions. He could spew out directives almost as fast as Nicholas, and when they were busy in their own heads, they would sometimes bark them at intruders in chorus. He'd also taken the physical fitness aspect in stride, changing his diet and exercising daily, even if he didn't run. It was rather impressive, the change Nicholas had seen, and he told himself that his feelings were just pride for having such a well put-together partner as Butterman.

But really….

Really, Nicholas admitted silently, detouring from his trek to break the Andys' heads in, closing himself into one of the holding cells and sliding to the floor in one of the blind spots near the door. Really…

He was really in love with him. He knew in his heart that the reason why he was being torn apart inside, why he felt so horribly every time the Met called, and why part of him really _wanted_ to run away, was because he'd fallen in love, an emotion that was so contradictory to his nature that it felt he was dying a little more each day.

His heart was telling him to say something, but his brain was too busy thinking about proximity violations on the outbound stretch of road past Ayrshire's farm on the north edge of town. And _other_ parts of his body…

He smacked the back of his head against the cold tile of the cell. He wasn't gay. He wasn't attracted to men. He'd been with Jeanine for a year and a half. Before her, it'd been Macy, and even before _her_ there'd been Paulette, Erica and Candice, in that reverse order.

But then, there'd been that bit with Liam…

His body shook involuntarily as he thought of that relationship. It was the only time in his life when he'd allowed someone else to take control, when he'd voluntarily become totally powerless, and coasted along in whatever wind Liam had felt like catching. Where in every other relationship he'd been in, he'd always felt naturally obliged to take the lead, with Liam they'd been equal, they'd shared responsibility and control. There was no domination, a painful and stressful trait that existed in each of their other relationships, so that they felt an ease with one another they'd never experienced before.

It had scared them both to death. They'd been telling themselves it was pity-fucking, a form of brutal relaxation, and bore no emotional ties. But when Liam was attacked, and when Nicholas in turn was injured not long after, they'd found themselves admitting a frightening truth they felt they couldn't live with: They were in love.

So Liam hit the desk and Nicholas was sent to Sandford, and damn it all if they hadn't tried to call each other almost every day for the first few weeks. Sandford was so far out of the way, though, that it was nearly impossible, so each of them had a neat little stack of letters from the other stashed away in their homes, so well concealed that once or twice they themselves had forgotten where they were.

And they'd assumed it was over. They thought the worst had passed.

Obviously, neither of them had considered the idea that someone like Danny Butterman would crash half-assedly into Nicholas's life.

'_NOT GAY_,' Nicholas screamed in his head, smacking the wall again with his skull.

That had to be it. There was no other explanation. The only reason Nicholas could come up with for Danny's magnetism was that, somehow, Nicholas was falling in love again.


	3. Chapter 3

"Nick?" Danny called, coming downstairs after finding the upstairs offices all empty. Apparently, the Andys, if it'd been them at all, had taken the fire escape to freedom, leaving everything untouched. The only thing out of place was a metal ammunitions container that held some of Nicholas's personal things from London, but everyone knew it only held the remainders of his dead peace lily.

"Nick, where the hell are you, you sodding idiot?" he laughed, casting about half-heartedly. Nicholas had been avoiding him recently, a fact that Danny had trouble understanding and accepting. He knew he was on the phone with London almost daily, now, and that people were whispering about his departure, but every time Danny was able to corner him for a moment and question him about it, Nicholas would flat deny any intention of leaving.

It wasn't Nick's words but the _way_ he said it that convinced Danny. He was enraptured by his partner's attentions, his semi-coddling that had begun to wane in recent weeks, so much that he had studied him down to a science, and could tell when there was something hiding in his words.

There was no deception about London, but there was certainly something else at work.

He stopped his mental figuring as a dull thump caught his attention. It was coming from the prisoner holding area…

He moved silently, taking ginger but rapid footsteps, until he was right outside the four doors that comprised their detention facilities.

Straining his ears, he caught a sniffling sound from cell 3, and a moment later the thump sounded again; somebody was knocking themselves silly.

Danny thought for a moment. The Andy's were gone, Doris was getting her hair done, Tony and the hound were out answering a call about a wild hog, and their phone man was fast asleep at his post and had been all day. So it had to be Nick…

A horrible idea pounced on his brain. Turning on his heel, he made quickly for the contraband room, punched in the code, and threw open the door.

_'Gotta work fast there, Dan_,' he reminded himself, digging through the shelves for something…and found it.

Just as quickly he spun about, grabbed the door, slammed it shut, locked it, bounded through the building, slowed to silence his approach, and froze just outside the door to cell 3; the thump was still there.

"What're you up to?" Andy C asked, appearing so suddenly at Danny's side that he nearly collapsed in fear.

"Shush!" he whispered angrily.

Suddenly, Andy W grabbed the object from Danny's right hand and hoisted it up to inspect it.

"Aaaah, pranking the Sergeant, are we?" Wainwright laughed under his breath.

The Andy's had put it together in record time; stink bomb for the Sergeant locked in his own private angst.

"That'll show the wanker for nicking all the high-gloss," Cartwright chuckled.

Danny screwed up his face in frustration, sighing in defeat upon realizing that this was a losing battle; the Andys had always been able to verbally overpower him.

"But what would the little Butterbean's excuse be for such treason, I wonder?" Wainwright asked, seeming to read Danny's mind. "I bet he's jealous of that Sergeant Nash fellow."

"Who the hell's that?" Danny and Cartwright asked simultaneously.

"Don't do that," they chastised each other at the same time.

The three of them were silent, looking back and forth at each other's faces for a moment.

"This is really weird," they all said together, each of them letting out a frustrated groan afterwards.

"Okay, alright, okay," Cartwright said, breaking in before the other two could get a chance to start something. "Nobody think what I'm thinking, or I'll shoot…well…myself, I guess."

"Why would you do that?" Danny asked.

"Well," Cartwright began, "If you're thinking what I'm thinking, and I'm thinking, 'Oh, I'll shoot him,' then I'm the one who ends up getting shot. But if you're thinking what I'm thinking and honestly thinking it, and I think, 'Oh, I'll shoot _myself_,' then you're the one with the bullet, then, aren't you?"

"Aaaaaaah," Danny and Wainwright nodded.

"So what's your reason for pissing off Captain Nicholarse Angle, anyway, Butterman?" Wainwright asked.

"Mmmm, well, we used to be…I dunno, mates, I guess?" Danny offered, really not sure himself all of a sudden. "Really, he doesn't even patrol with me half the time anymore. We don't hang out or talk about stupid shite, or do anything we did before, and it's like he's bloody ignoring me half the time."

"And who the fuck is Nash?" Cartwright asked, having kept his eyes on his fellow Andy the entire time. "You can't just go lobbing names around like artillery shells and expect me to pass them by, Andy."

Wainwright scoffed. Leave it to his partner to hang onto every detail…

"Hey, yeah," Danny put in, rounding on Wainwright as well. "Who the fuckerall is that guy?"

"Well, I have it on good authority that Sergeant Liam Nash, he's a good friend of Sergeant Angel's from his Met days," Wainwright explained, lowering his voice. There was a dull thump from inside the cell, making the three of them jerk their heads toward the sound, giving the impression of frightened meerkats, before realizing Nicholas wasn't about to stop his own beating anytime soon.

"So he's leaving, then?" Cartwright prompted.

"What makes you say that?" Danny inquired, feeling defensive and contradictory.

"Well, he wouldn't bother calling up his old mates if he wasn't looking to go back," Cartwright reasoned.

"Actually," Wainwright said, lowering his voice again and leaning his head toward the other two, "It's not quite like that."

"Not like _what_?" Cartwright asked, unable to read his friend for once, which made him even more curious.

"From what I've heard," said Wainwright, dragging it out to add suspense, "Sergeant Angel and this…Sergeant Nash fellow, well, they were cool for a little while."

Cartwright and Butterman let their jaws drop. They seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for Wainwright to shout, "Got you, you sodding idiots! You really though he was a fag, eh? Wait 'til I tell him." But he just stood there, smiling smugly, as the other two gathered their brains back into their heads.

"Wait, fuck, what??" Cartwright jumbled, part of him turned on and part of him very, very disgusted. "Are you saying the Sergeant was buggering his mate?"

"That's what it sounded like," Wainwright said, sticking out his bottom lip as he bobbed his head in affirmation.

Suddenly, the Andys's beepers went off, both of them smothering the shrill electronic chirps, hopefully before Nicholas could hear it.

"Shit, man," Wainwright groaned. "What the fuck has Fisher gone and done now?"

It couldn't wait. Their other Sergeant was calling. And he'd even bothered to stick in the phrase, "NOW, damn it."

Wainwright and Cartwright left as fast as they'd appeared, leaving Danny behind but taking his mini explosive with them.

So much for a prank…


	4. Chapter 4

"Can I come in?" Danny called, rapping his knuckles on the cell door, snapping Nicholas out of his self-loathing revere.

Shifting away from the door, he called, "All clear," meaning Danny was safe to enter.

A moment later, Danny's head peaked through the doorway, taking an apprehensive look around before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"You alright there, mate?" Danny asked, sitting down on the floor opposite Nicholas, who had opted to scoot onto the cell's uncomfortable foam mattress.

Nicholas didn't respond for a bit. His head was throbbing from blunt force trauma. On top of the physical pain, he had the mental dilemma of what to say to Danny. He still didn't know if he _could _say anything…

"Bet your head hurts," Danny said after a while.

"You heard that?" Nicholas asked, somewhat crestfallen and embarrassed. "It's nothing, just…preventive…precautionary measures, and…"

"What're you preventing?" Danny laughed. "You got some sort of alien thing living in your head that you've got to knock about every now and then? What, it'll eat your head otherwise?"

Nicholas laughed softly, leaning his head toward his lap.

_'God, don't break down, you silly prat,_' he coached his brain. He could feel his laughter threatening to dissolve into tears, or even worse _rage _and he immediately focused on not letting that happen, squeezing the life out of his emotions.

Three weeks he'd been confiding in Liam, telling him everything, denying it in the same breath, and then reverting to his initial statement. He was so confused and forlorn, and Liam had helped him every step of the way, until he could stand to spend time with Danny again without having a panic attack.

Somewhere in the middle of it, though, he'd come to feel for _Liam_ again, and added to his primary fear of being in love with anyone at all, he was on the edge of a true nervous break down. And some bastard had been foolish enough to let _him_ pick the evidence room pass code…

Sitting across the cell, Danny could see the tumult racking Nicholas, mind and body. He had him down to a science. He knew when he was in trouble.

As soon as Wainwright had spilled the beans about Nash, he'd known what was wrong.

Sure, he'd never really taken Nicholas for a fag, but the idea hadn't been a stranger to him, that was certain. From the moment he'd met Nicholas he'd been smitten with him, first entranced by his experience and command in both the office and the field, but their time alone had proved something to him: That what he felt for Nicholas Angel was probably more than admiration or innocent, brotherly love.

In fact, it was probably light years in the opposite direction.

He'd never known anyone like Nick. He'd spent his entire life in Sandford. So when this no-nonsense, hardcore, svelte blonde cop from the streets of London showed up out of nowhere to protect their pathetic town, he'd gone a bit giddy for him.

At the time, he didn't think he stood a chance, and looking back, he could see where Nash was probably a better bet than his overweight, bumbling bumpkin of a partner. More like charge, really…

But there'd been something there, nonetheless. There was attraction, endearment, and as Danny came to learn all of Nicholas's quirks, he saw that those facets of their relationship has been there almost all along.

"Nick," Danny said gently, letting his head rest against the cell wall behind him, "what're you really doing in here, eh?"

Nicholas looked over at him, lips pressed tightly together.

"Thinking," he replied.

"How can you think with that alien in your brain?" Danny teased, tapping his own skull to emphasize the point. Nicholas didn't even smile. Danny sighed, defeated.

"Listen, mate, I know what's up," Danny tried to explain.

"You do?" Nicholas replied, incredulous. "You think you know what's up? 'What's up', Danny, is _way_ beyond what you know, alright? Just because you and every other person in this town seems to know exactly what your pottering little neighbors are doing all hours of the day and night doesn't give you credence to _assume_ you know 'what's up'. I may be living in this…freak show…but that doesn't make me a part of it, alright? And trust me, I find it's far better that way."

After a moment of very uncomfortable silence, Nicholas rubbed his eyes furiously and sighed, adding fatiguedly, "We should get back to work, forget this whole thing, there's more than enough to do-"

"Liam Nash," Danny said, drawing out each syllable and pausing heavily between the first and surname.

Nicholas had gotten to his feet before Danny spoke, ready to flee in terror, but stopped dead-cold in his tracks when the words sunk in. He turned slowly back to his friend, still seated on the floor, and sank to the ground beside him, teeth gritted but lips slightly curled, as he felt his breathing pick up exponentially.

"How?" Nicholas barely managed to ask. "How'd you find out?"

"What, thought nobody'd catch on to your little calls?" Danny retorted, somewhat smug as Wainwright had been, but with a bite of indignation, knowing he'd had to find out second-hand rather than his friend being honest with him.

"It's not…it's nothing," Nicholas tried to say, but he could tell Danny wasn't buying it. "I mean, yes, I knew him back in London, and we worked together for a bit, but… We're friends, you know? And sometimes, we talk, but it's nothing. Really."

"So you two _weren't_ mixing after work?" Danny pressed, knowing the answer to his own question before he voiced it.

Nicholas was flabbergasted. Embarrassed. _Mortified_. His jaw worked overtime, spluttering nonsensical words, casting about and dodging Danny's eyes, when he was overcome with the urge to _run_. Just get up, run, and never come back. He couldn't face the town, especially not Danny, with everyone whispering behind their hands that he was a _queer_ one, after all.

His mind finally exploded, and he gave a quavering yet short-lived shout, smacking himself in the forehead with an open palm, the stress and fear bottled up despite Liam's consoling getting the better of him. The thought of Liam made him cave further, and suddenly he wanted to be with him, to have someone make it alright, and not rely on himself to do it all alone. He twisted, trying to get his feet under him, so he could run.

A hand suddenly clamped down on his wrist, and he looked at it in dismay and confusion. Danny was holding him back… Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Danny's gaze, his breath shallow and desperate, shaking gently from head to foot. He didn't break down. Nicholas Angel did _NOT_ have nervous break downs. This wasn't like him at all. It wasn't like Danny at all, to be aggressive like this, to hold him back, to look at him like _that_.

They were locked in silence, their roles reversed, Nicholas finally depleted after weeks of suffering, Danny at the top of his game from weeks of training.

"Danny…I-" Nicholas began, barely a whisper, trying to keep the tears making his eyes glisten from spilling down his face. The feel of water on his face would be the end of him, the last sign that he'd lost control, and he didn't want to lose it in a prison cell; it was an age-old fear.

Suddenly, a hand was on the back of his skull, fingers pressing against the spot where it had met the wall continually less than ten minutes ago. It was rather sore, and he hissed as the hand continued to clutch and palpitate.

It was Danny's hand, the other still holding his wrist. He looked into Danny's eyes, frightened, confused, and the tears fell wordlessly now, but not from Danny's eyes. Instead, the look his friend wore intensified at the sight of Nicholas's weakness, and a moment later, their lives changed.

It was more fierce than Nick had thought Danny capable of. The hand on the back of his head pulled his face toward Danny's, their mouths meeting awkwardly, but as Danny made contact, he found the pressure on the back of his head increase, their mouths crushed together.

A moment later, Danny opened his mouth against Nick's lips, encouraging his friend to do the same, his tongue darting out and forcibly parting Nick's lips to slide inside. Without thinking, Nicholas whined into Danny's mouth, closing his eyes, letting Danny take over. The hand on his wrist went to his side, clutching Nick's shirt and pulling him down, closer to Danny, leaning over his friend's body as he realized Danny was trying to pull him into his lap. He resisted, just barely, his free hand pressing back against Danny's thigh, making him groan appreciatively at the contact.

The angle of their heads changed, Nick sliding down against the wall, so that Danny had to kneel over him to continue their lip lock. His tongue pressed hard against Nick's for a moment, savoring the taste of his mouth, memorizing the feel of their mouths together, allowing his hand to detach from Nick's skull and run carelessly down his front, stopping just above his belt buckle.

_'Oh God, don't do that,_,' Nick thought desperately, feeling Danny's fingers play dangerously around that borderline. He could feel his body tingling, his legs parted so slightly, yearning for Danny to touch him but horrified at the prospect. His hands grabbed Danny's shoulders violently, his dominant, aggressive side bursting to life, and pushed Danny back, separating their mouths by just a hair.

"Please," he whispered against Danny's mouth, but the word was more a request to stop. It meant, 'Please, don't do this,' rather than the, 'Please, won't you fuck me?' that Danny was looking for.

With a dissatisfied grunt, Danny shoved Nicholas gently, standing up and righting his clothes.

"Don't call him anymore," Danny said quietly, sounding depressed, but threatening at the same time.

He left Nicholas alone in the cell, collapsed against the wall, all strength finally leaving him. He barely managed to claw his way onto the bed before he passed into a listless but blissful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Why are you sleeping there?" Tony asked, snapping Nicholas out of a particularly happy dream about strapping WMD's to unicorns and flinging them at dragons with piñatas dangling from their mouths.

"Sorry, what?" Nicholas asked, sitting up and blinking against the harsh florescent lights. His mouth was dry, but there was a strange aftertaste…and then he remembered Danny, kissing him, holding him down, and he felt himself getting flustered and hot in the collar.

"I was wondering if you'd like to hit the pub, but the Andy's said you were in here," Tony explained, sliding onto the cot beside Nicholas. "Are you feeling alright, Sergeant?"

"I'm fine, Sergeant," Nicholas replied, daring to smile; it was a game the two of them played, really. Tony felt himself far less qualified but hated to admit it, and Nicholas knew he was leaps and bounds beyond the office, but refused to feel anything but humble, so they would poke each other amiably with the title from time to time.

At least everyone had stopped playing 'Sergeant Says' and let them get their jobs done.

Sighing, Tony placed a hand on Nicholas's back and rubbed gently, small circles between his shoulder blades, using his fingers fleetingly to attack the tension that was obviously hiding there. This was something they did from time to time, sitting together in silence, making small talk, sometimes getting a back rub. They were weird like that.

It had started not long after Danny's injury, when they were using the library basement as their command station, and Nicholas had suffered his first nervous break down. The basement had flooded almost to the ceiling during the night, leaving everything a sopping mess, the goats on Pottering Hill had gotten loose and wandered into town, ripping up all the flowerbeds and making a mess of the hedgerows, and two dozen dead calls were placed in half an hour's time to their bureau.

Nicholas had been livid. Red-faced with rage. When Doris asked him if it'd be too much to head out for a spot of tea, just to soothe her nerves, he'd lost it at her, threatening to blow the whole bloody place up, carrying on about how inept and absolutely worthless the whole place was, how much of a _hole_ he'd gotten tossed into. Finally, Tony slammed him in the jaw, knocking him cold for a moment.

When he came around, he was sitting on the cold, damp concrete, Tony rubbing his back and muttering soothingly to him. The others had left; Tony told them Nicholas was stressed out, he needed a little time to cool off. They'd been happy to oblige, the Andys taking orders without question for the first time in years, and even the dog had given only a whimper in response to the "Less getter muffin" command.

Since then, whenever Nicholas was feeling the heat, Tony would show up and pat him on the back, sometimes wordlessly, other times under the guise of small talk, but always without mention of the real problem.

In return, Nicholas was always there to answer the hard questions, always willing to do the paperwork, and always ready to chase down a runaway car or mindless shoplifter when Tony knew he couldn't catch him.

Nick covered the hard stuff. Tony kept him going.

"Don't go back to London," Tony said, his hand ceasing its revolutions but remaining on his friend's back. "I know we're a shitty little village in the middle of nowhere, but…But it grows on you, over time, and you've kind of grown on us, Angel."

"Yeah, I noticed," Nicholas responded, finally looking over and giving Tony a weak grin. "Everyone's outlandishly kind, you know that? Even if I tend to be a stiff bastard…"

"That's not so," Tony replied, patting his back gently to soothe him. "You're a great cop, mate, and everybody knows it. It's just you've a different veneer than the rest of the town. You keep thinking of yourself as an 'outsider,' and until you drop it, you'll never really get inside, you know?"

"It's just…" Nicholas began, watching his fingers dangling between his knees, elbows on his thighs as he slouched forward. "It's just that, in London, there was _anonymity._ You could bust in a wonky bastard's head, and never worry about seeing him or his mates again, or even if you _did_, it was always between a badge and a gun. You didn't arrest your neighbors or live next door to the arsonists, and if you did, you'd put them away and get _new_ neighbors, but here…"

"Nobody expects you to do anything more than your job," Tony said firmly. "You let your silly fears keep eating your brain, and soon you won't have one, Nick. If I had a gumdrop for every failed expectation, the whole world would be candy-coated, but I realized that some of the things people wanted from me were outlandish. You, Nicholas, need to figure out in that wonky skull of yours which things are mental, and which ones are worth pursuing, and then you bloody well have to _do_ the sensible ones!"

Nicholas nodded slowly, feeling worn down and sick to his stomach. If he didn't have ulcers already, he was sure he was about to get them, especially with-

"Christ, that's right," he burst out, leaping off the bed, his energy suddenly restored. "Have we heard anything about the prison break?"

"You mean Skinner and the old Chief?" Tony asked, getting to his feet and placing his hands on his hips. He kicked the ground, tamped his foot really, to kill time, and cleared his throat.

"Well, you won't believe it, but they've _disappeared_. Totally vanished! They found their jumpsuits ten miles outside the gate, but no tracks, the dogs couldn't find them, and out in the middle of the sodding woods no less. Just gone!"

"And there've been no subsequent sightings?" Nicholas pursued, though he was already heading out the cell door, Tony on his heels.

"None," Tony said, confirming Nicholas's fears. "But we're almost certain they'll be in the vicinity soon, if they're not already."

They stormed loudly from the detention area to the office, where Wainwright and Doris were eating chocolate ice cream cake and trying to stick magnetic darts to the side of Walker's head as he dozed nearby; it was rumored he had a plate in there.

"Where's Cartwright?" Nicholas asked, scaring Walker awake, the dog stirring at his feet.

"Upstairs, watching the monitors," Wainwright answered. "Nice to see your little nap is over, Sergeant. Have any…interesting dreams, eh?"

Nicholas was about to ask Doris if she'd see Pete Langdon, the local firearms dealer and huntsman, whose shop was actually located just outside of the village in Mendenbrook, to make sure he didn't unintentionally sell Skinner or Butterman a gun or anything of the sort. He did a double-take at Wainwright though, his mouth slightly agape, as he gave the Andy a calculating glare.

"…No," he answered curtly, turning and addressing Doris and he'd intended to a moment ago. He could feel a niggling in the pit of his stomach, like he was about to get a second visit from his lunch, which also made him realize that, despite the anxiety, he'd not eaten in…checking his watch…seven and a half hours.

And getting emotionally bludgeoned and snogged took a lot out of a man.

"Listen, make sure Andy stays upstairs," Nicholas said after Doris gathered her things and set out immediately to warn Pete. "I want at least two people on call at all times, here at the station, ready to go. Everyone else is to be at the ready, regardless of where they are or who-what they're doing."

He cleared his throat when Wainwright snickered.

"And if you get another call from London," Wainwright teased, "we'll be sure to wake you for that, too, Sergeant. Unless you're busy, you know, with your mates there."

Nicholas gave him the most malicious glower he could muster, ignoring Walker's inquisitive look, and forgetting about Tony completely until the other Sergeant cleared his throat. If not for the distraction, he was sure he'd throttle Andy right there in the office. It would land him in a cell for the second time that day, but at least it wouldn't be a long trip.

"You wanna grab a bite to eat?" Nicholas asked Tony, turning toward him suddenly. "I know it's late, but…"

Tony gave him a sharp look for a moment and knew it was important. Between Nicholas's worn-down expression, coupled with mind-numbing rage, and Andy spouting suggestive innuendos faster than a bad porno flick, it didn't take a detective to figure out something was definitely not right.

Which was good, because Tony had failed his detective test twice, and he didn't have the stomach to retake it again.


	6. Chapter 6

Doris sighed, leaning heavily against the side of her squad car. She'd driven practically to the edge of town, which wasn't so much of a journey, but when she'd come around to Pete's driveway on the far side of the pond, she'd found it flooded out and completely impassable. Of course, seeing as she was already there, she decided to try and find another way around, which lead her into the thick of the rampaging goat herd from several months' past.

They'd actually just kind of pushed them out of town, and Mr. Lancaster, the hermit who owned them, just rounded them up from time to time for milk, meat and pelts. But he never corralled them, and since he wasn't actually part of Sandford, they had no jurisdiction over his doings.

Strangely, after looking into it, they found his property didn't belong to _any_ jurisdiction, and upon reporting this to the Land Committee, were told that it would take three years and an appeals process to get his land taken care of.

So, soaked to the hips from being chased into the lake by rampaging goats, and being subsequently bitten to all kingdom come by aggravated turtles, she was about ready to call it an evening. Maybe even sleep in her car, if she felt like it, because it was just _so_ far to drive back home.

From somewhere in the distance she heard something splashing about in the water, perhaps a large pony or a distressed animal of some description, and recalling an incident where one of the Ayrshire bulls accidentally drowned himself in two feet of water, Doris begrudgingly grabbed the cattle prod out of the trunk before heading off in the direction of the disturbance.

It was getting darker and darker rather quickly, but she soon saw there wasn't very far to go; the dark object was actually sitting on the shore less than ten meters away, tossing rocks at the calm, glassy surface of the pond, the huge stones making ripples all across its surface.

"Danny?" Doris called, raising her torch for a moment to shine it on the ground beside him. She'd flashed someone in the eyes once, and it'd turned out to be Wainwright using the basement to develop photographs of the Armenian girls at the inn, and he'd nearly bludgeoned her in the head with the torch for blinding him. And for ruining his photographs.

The other officer looked over at her, sized her up for a moment, and then went back to his rock chunking.

Doris hesitated for a moment; part of her wanted to go home and nestle into the cool, deep recesses of her feather bed, and part of her knew that Danny needed somebody to talk to. Sighing, she stomped over to the pond shore, sitting down heavily at Danny's side; at least she wanted to give the impression of irritation, so that Danny wouldn't stall forever with the details.

For a little while they sat together in silence, the sun setting further and further on the horizon, until the sky was a silky dark blue, with only slightly illuminated clouds low along the edge of the sky. Beside her, Doris watched Danny throw rocks the size of his helmet far into the center of the pond, letting them dimple and roll the surface as the stones sank gently to the bottom, and watched the ripples touch the far edges of the pond. He waited for the surface to become totally placid again before repeating the sequence, perhaps three more times, before he allowed the final stone to drop to his side.

"You don't have to be here," he murmured to Doris. She didn't reply, only set a resolute expression on her face and sniffed indignantly, as if to say, 'Well, just _try_ and make me leave, Daniel.'

"I watched the goats chase you about," Danny continued, indicating with his head the open field and flooded road in the distance where Doris had run for her life only an hour ago.

"Sorry I didn't help," he offered, giving her a weak smile before quickly averting his gaze again.

He played with the rough grass at his side for a moment, tearing out a handful and mashing the stems in his hand before dropping them back to the ground.

"Danny, what's wrong?" Doris asked soothingly, placing a hand gently on his arm. "You're never like this, love…"

"D'you know who Liam Nash is?" Danny asked suddenly, his voice carrying a hint of a quiver.

"Sergeant Nash?" Doris repeated, a giddy little smile breaking across her face for but a moment before seeing the ghastly expression on Danny's face. "Well, of _course_ I do, Danny. All us lady-cops do. He's kind of a legend, like Nick, except…well, he's a right catch, and most women in uniform these days are looking to get him out of his."

She giggled, but Danny shook his head, letting out a defeated sigh.

"Daaaaanny," Doris sang, niggling him in the side; Danny was ticklish, and poking him in the side finally got a smile out of him.

"Doris, you wouldn't get it," Danny said, sounding exasperated.

"Oh come on," Doris replied, niggling him again. "I can see where the other lads wouldn't be much to talk to, but I'm not one of the lads, eh? So come on. Try me."

Danny looked at her sidewards for a moment, giving as much regard to her as he did to his hands, which seemed to be excessively interesting to him suddenly. There was a warm spring breeze blowing out of the south, and Doris thanked God it was carrying the sweet scent of Abigail Fisher's lilacs in its grasp; the aroma always calmed her nerves, and she made sure to tell Tony's mum every spring to plant them, just for her, if nothing else.

She hung in there, partially for the lilacs, and partially for Danny's sake.

"You think Nick wants to go back to London more than he wants to stay here with you," Doris guessed, her voice very soft and motherly. "Or is it that you think our Sergeant fancies mister Nash?"

Danny gave her an icy stare for a moment before looking away again.

So that was it, eh? Doris chuckled to herself. Danny was jealous of Sergeant Nash, a man whose clippings she, along with every female officer (and some of the lads, she'd heard) from Land's End to Orkney, and Mizen to Malin Head, had been hording since his start in the service. Aparting from being right amazing at his job, he had the reputation of being quite the Renaissance man, and his looks weren't anything to scoff at, either. When he got paired up with Nicholas Angel for a few years, he became ever more the hot item, and the two of them in tandem were every lady's dream at the time.

If Nash and Angel were swapping DNA, that was none of her business, though it did make her blush furiously; the Uniformed Women's Club, which met twice a month in Bristol, would giggle about the notion whenever it came up. Obviously, it was an important matter to Danny, and being there for him meant niggling him some more, which she felt obliged to do at the moment.

"Come on, Daniel, don't be silly," she joked lightly, pushing him in the shoulder as he tried to control his giggling.

"S'not silly," Danny nearly pouted, rocking slightly from side to side in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. "He's obviously thinking about leaving, and now…now he's gone and started up with that pratt, after he'd promised me that _we_ were best mates, and what'm I to think when I find out shit like that, eh? And from the bloody Andys of all people…"

"So it's true?" Doris asked, perhaps too optimistically; Danny shot her a look, and she cleared her throat.

"Look, Danny, _we_ know he's not going back to London," Doris reasoned. "And _everybody_ knows you two are best mates, even if he's been a bit wonky as of late. He's probably homesick, nothing too cataclysmic, and from what you've said, Nicholas and Sergeant Nash were…close. So it's natural for them to keep in touch."

"Yeah, but I _might_ have…complicated things," Danny admitted, giving her a sheepish look.

Doris raised an eyebrow, shifting her body to face him head on.

"Daniel Butterman, what did you do, you silly git?" she asked, pursing her lips. She wasn't really angry with him, but when Danny acted foolishly, it wasn't a stretch for her to get aggravated.

"I may have…well," Danny floundered for a moment, "Let's just say that he knows that I know what he thinks I know about us, and that he knows that it's all wrong, because I let him know that I know that he knows it's complicated, and so now we _both_ know roughly where we're at."

Doris blinked. Really blinked, hard, enough to make her contact lenses slide around against her eyelids, making her blink more, but rapidly. She was somewhere between incredulous and debilitating confused.

"What?" she managed. "You…_what??!?"_

After a pregnant pause, Danny finally spat out, "I may have…snogged Nick."

"…Oh."


	7. Chapter 7

The pub was nothing like the ones back in London. The thought always struck him like a brick through a speeding trolley window, where he was always the unlucky bastard to take the projectile in the head, whenever he frequented the joint for a cranberry juice or a lager, depending on how the day had gone.

Sitting in the darkest corner available, hunched over a small table across from Tony, both of them on their third round with the remnants of a hamburger and a plate of linguini between them, he was yet again overcome by the dissimilarities between Sandford and London.

"What're you thinking about?" Tony asked, the air in the pub dead enough to carry the scent of Tony's alcohol-laced breath across the table and into Nicholas's face, the exhalation of patrons the only means of airflow.

"…London," Nicholas said after a very long pause. He spun his glass slowly, the coaster long since made void by the extreme condensation pooling around the bottom lip, turning it into a moist towelette of sorts.

"Not much of a comparison, eh?" Tony joked; he had a frightening ability to almost read people's minds when drunk.

"You must think we're sickeningly dull. Well, most of us, anyway. You've got Danny, after all, and really, in this life, you only need one person to make it special, right? Anywhere in the world is perfect if you've the right person with you."

"You talk too much, Fisher," Nicholas grumbled, taking another quick, deep swallow, screwing up his face at the warm liquid pouring down his throat.

What he was really thinking about was how similar this particular night was to the evening two and a half years prior that had lead to his disturbing downfall.

He'd been having a shaky time at home with Jeanine, and as an escape, he'd accepted an invitation to Flint Bay, a small village on the Isle of Man where Liam holidayed with his mates every summer.

They'd been in a tiny, airless pub like this after a long day of trying to surf in icy, unwelcoming English/Irish waters, to the glee of all Liam's mates, and had thus voted to abandon them for the evening.

It was the first time Nicholas got really, _really_ drunk, to the point where he didn't even realize how inebriated he was, and had stumbled home with Liam, crashing the group cottage and locking the others out to spite them for their cruelty.

They'd been sunburnt, not too horribly, but enough to be uncomfortable. Shirts and shorts had been removed, calamine lotion was produced almost magically, and the first touch of cold lotion on his raw skin had made him indisputably _hard_.

"You in there, mate?" Tony hiccupped, giving Nicholas a questioning smile.

"Yeah, I'm here," Nicholas sighed. "It's just…different. Things have become very different for me over the past few months. I hate to admit it, but I've never been fond of change. I was totally content to stay in London, as a Sergeant, no relocation or promotion or silly nonsense needed. I was _happy_."

"You sure don't sound happy about it," Tony observed. "Sounds more like you were scared brainless to leave, yeah, but not really happy, per say."

"Did I mention you talk too much?" Nicholas repeated, going for his drink again.

_'You alright there, mate?' Liam asked._

_'Yeah, fine, great,' Nicholas breathed, trying desperately to hide the embarrassment between his legs with a throw pillow from the couch._

_'Seriously, if you're feeling sick, we should get you into the loo,' Liam insisted, a confused look mixing momentarily with his concern._

_They looked at each other for a moment, just stared, unflinching, __**afraid**__ to move._

_A hand on his upper thigh made Nicholas jump, but he didn't drop his gaze or move to stop Liam. Instead he tossed the pillow aside and turned around on the couch, on his hands and knees, making Liam lean back. He crawled forward, his hands now on either side of Liam's hips, feeling Liam's hands on his sides. They were only wearing underwear and socks, totally sated with alcohol and sunshine, desperately horny and completely alone._

_'Nick,' Liam murmured._

_The name alone sent shivers down Nicholas's spine, relishing the sound of it on Liam's tongue, taking greater pleasure out of hearing its utterance from him than any girl he'd ever had in that position._

"I think I'll have another, thanks," Tony said to Jason Briggs, the new owner of the pub, as the man came over to inquire about the hospitality.

"No, thanks," Nicholas replied curtly, though he did smile and nod agreeably at the barkeep.

"You were in Never Land just then," Tony smiled, poking Nicholas's forehead sharply with his index finger. "You've really got to learn to stick to the conversation, Angel."

_"Angel," Liam sighed, his body twitching and breath hitching as Nicholas pushed his boxers out of the way, taking hold of Liam's member and drawing still._

_"Do…do you want this?" Nicholas barely breathed, lips ghosting against Liam's as he spoke._

_A warm, sure hand wrapped tightly around his own cock, and wordlessly, eyes locked, Liam began to stroke him slowly, languidly, with such care and purpose that Nicholas had to lean his head against Liam's chest, panting and moaning like a teenager, begging…_

_"Fuck, Nick," Liam whimpered, Nicholas realizing he was still holding Liam's dick in his hand, squeezing too hard, probably._

_"Sorry, love," Nicholas whispered, lips quickly covering Liam's in apology, releasing his death grip._

_"Nick, please," Liam whimpered __**again**__, the sound of his voice and the look on his face too much for Nicholas to ignore. Plus, the hand on his dick had slowed, and only the sure grasp of fingers told him that Liam was still in this at all._

_"Just tell me what you want," Nicholas said slowly, his eyes locked on Liam's._

"I just want you to listen to me, you silly git," came Tony's voice from a thousand miles away.

"Honestly, Nick, what the hell are you so lost on?"

Nicholas gave him a half-sick look, barely lifting his head, gazing at the other officer through his eyelashes. The sounds of the pub filled their uneasy silence; the clinking and thunking of glasses, the soft laughter of inebriated patrons, and the muted music of the ancient radio beneath the decorative blanket one of the Armenian girls had draped over it, claiming it was an instrument of Satan.

"It's rather a personal matter, Tony," Nicholas replied slowly, weighing each word as he uttered it, as if they all betrayed him with a subtle meaning he never meant them to carry.

"Look, if this is about the paint thing…" Tony began, sounding guilty.

"It was really just a joke, you know?"

"That isn't it," Nicholas sighed, running his fingers along the lip of his glass. "It's…What would you do if…How do you know when you're in love?"

Tony blinked for a moment, giving Nicholas a wary look, as if it were a test. After a moment, he pushed against the table, tipping his chair back on the rear two legs, and let out a short laugh.

"Oi, is that all, Nick?" Tony chortled, cutting his levity short as the withering glare on Nicholas's face intensified to DefCon 5.

"Well," Tony said, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hands, "when you're in love… I mean, you _know _you're in love…If, when you wake in the morning, the sun isn't fully risen until you see her smiling at you."

It was touching, in a strange sort of way, and Nicholas cleared his throat and averted his eyes; he hadn't realized he was staring holes into Tony's head until he looked away.

Because it sounded so familiar. The words were only a vocalization of something he'd already experienced, a feeling he'd been so afraid of that he didn't dare name it, not until that moment when he knew it was the right word to put with the emotion…

_He grunted, biting down on Liam's shoulder, shuddering as he came. He wrapped his arms tightly around Liam's chest, pulling their bodies together, feeling such a rush of warmth and calm and exhaustion wash over him that he dared not move. He could feel their hearts, pressed chest to chest, hammering with giddiness and exertion, and altogether quite content to beat in rapid time to one another for as long as they allowed the embrace to last._

_"Nick," Liam whispered, soft lips against his cheek. _

_Another shudder, his lips pulled back in a silent giggle, arms still clinging to the joyous life raft Liam had suddenly become to him. It was amazing how good he felt in that moment…_

_"Yeah?" he finally managed._

_Liam snuggled against him, making a content sound in his throat. Turning on his side, Nicholas twined his legs with Liam's, turning his partner so their chests were flush once more, tucking Liam's head under his chin._

_Suddenly, grey-blue eyes were level with his own, as Liam propped himself up on his elbow, studying Nicholas's expression. He broke into a grin, the first real smile he'd ever seen on Liam, and in an instant he was grinning just as madly, the beginnings of silliness tickling at their post-coital bliss._

_"Ugh, God, that was…" Liam sighed. "I don't know what to say, Nick."_

_"Say whatever you want," Nicholas replied, shaking his head as he continued to smile, resting on his elbow as well, so they were level. He absently ran his hand along Liam's arm, making the other man nearly purr._

_"I'd have to say, if you're charging for this in the future, you're hired," Liam joked, leaning toward him to steal a kiss._

_Nicholas reached out, pulling Liam in, his mouth dragging slowly across Liam's lips. His tongue snaked out, tasting sweat and whatever sweetness it seemed his friend's mouth naturally produced in the form of small endearments. He pushed inside, invading Liam's mouth, searching for the core of that kindness, that love, wanting to take it all for himself._

_He pulled back just as suddenly, making Liam moan in protest, eyes half lidded and lips parted so salaciously they practically begged to be violated._

_"I'm already yours," he murmured, before pushing Liam flat on his back and climbing on top of him, filling the room once again with the soft sounds of lovemaking._

He walked home from the pub, alone, to allow himself time to think.

Somehow, he still had feelings for Liam, after all this time. Somehow, despite the painful lessons he'd learned from that relationship, he was in the process of reinstating the same situation, only in a different time and place. Somehow, despite all the damned fences they'd put up, there were still goats wandering the streets…

He stopped, looking up at the night sky, studying the stars that shone so sadly it seemed, each one alone in the vast darkness of space. Each one of them was a sun, all on its own, probably with no planets or satellites to keep it company, save for the random shooting star to grace its orbit every hundred years or so.

Nicholas was one of those lonely stars, shining brightly for everyone to watch, partaking of its beautiful enchantment from afar, but not daring to draw near and see the life and warmth it could spread if only given a chance.

Danny was his shooting star, the satellite that came close enough to see, to feel, to touch, every few hundred years.

Maybe, if he pulled hard enough, he could bring Danny into his orbit.


	8. Chapter 8

The days began to stretch and blur as spring used its charming allure to bring about summer, a rough and angry customer this year; June was wrung in as T-shirts were wrung out, the mercury climbing higher and higher every day. It seemed that mid-day left the streets empty, and even the hoodies were nowhere to be seen, except outside their trademark attire and lounging in the low branches of ancient trees around the edge of town.

The only positive, in many ways, was that the Armenian girls, who turned out to be the inn keep's illegitimate daughters from a woman of "questionable nature", were now gallivanting about in the most sensational lack of dress the town had ever witnessed.

The Andys, in accord with Walker and Doris, appealed to Nicholas and Tony for some sort of reprieve from their sweltering uniforms, but were turned down immediately by Nicholas's intense, icy stare and Tony's infuriating apathy.

If anything was to be done for their insufferable working conditions, they'd have to appeal to Danny first.

That didn't seem to be a winning wager, really; things couldn't get any colder or more awkward between Butterman and Angel, who'd taken to addressing one another by surname and indulging in only the most polite of conversations. Only Doris knew the real story of what had caused such a massive rift, and since the others didn't know about her conversation with Danny out at the pond, they hadn't the opportunity to annoy her about it.

But, as she was the only woman at their precinct, they assumed she'd have the most luck in conniving.

It was Tuesday afternoon, two weeks into the heat wave, when a disheveled Doris slogged into the office, the electric delivery in Sandford too inadequate for an air conditioner, meaning she had to slump against Danny's desk and position herself directly in front of the fan to receive any relief. As she sat against the edge, forcing the desk backward a hair, Danny looked up from his paperwork and grunted, meaning he wasn't going to get angry about the interruption, as long as she didn't bother him.

If only.

"How is it you can live like this?" Doris grumbled, running her fingers through her hair as she pulled out the pin at the nape of her neck, letting her shoulder-length raven hair float freely in the artificial breeze. "Everyone and his mother's out there dying of prostration, and you putter along like it's a perfect Sunday. How do you manage, Danny?"

He chuckled slightly as he tossed his pen aside, shaking out the stiffness developing in his fingers.

"Well, everyone hates the paperwork so much," Danny said coyly, lowering his voice barely enough to qualify as whispering, "I just volunteer to take care of it for them, and sit in here all day with the fan. 'S not like I'm not working… I'm just working smart."

"Until Nicholas catches you," Doris observed.

The mention of Sergeant Angel made Danny's face fall, and Doris sighed.

"What are you two on about, anyway?" Doris nattered, poking Danny solidly in the shoulder. "I thought you and him were closer than that…Letting some old boyfriend get in the way."

"They still talk a lot," Danny admitted, opening up for the first time in weeks.

"And they would," Doris replied, crossing her arms. "If I were Nicholas, I'd think you were right furious with me, what with you two being so distant as of late. And I'll tell you what, Daniel Butterman, it's wearing hard on the rest of us, too. Nicholas hasn't been himself since. You'd swear he was the old Sergeant Angel, still walking the beat in London, treating everyone like criminals and what have you."

"Then maybe he should just go home," Danny spat, looking truly angry for once.

Doris took a deep breath, reaching over to pet Danny on the shoulder. She knew it was hard for him, but it was about time that the two of them stopped acting like silly children. And it was time somebody convinced Angel or Fisher that they needed lighter uniforms, if only until the heat broke. If Danny didn't work out, she was not above sleeping with Tony. In fact, she'd been looking for a good excuse for a while now…

"I just wish he'd talk to me again," Danny sighed, his face cracking. "I wish we could be like we were before, just mates, no boyfriends or girlfriends or anybody else, really. Just watching action films and talking about fun shite, and stopping by the pub now and again. I can't even look at cranberry juice anymore without turning into a reminiscent nancy. But… But I don't even know _how_ to talk to him anymore."

"Fortunately for you, _that_ part I can help with," Doris laughed. She'd been considering niggling him into doing their dirty work, but she suddenly saw a much more beneficial route. "This bloody heat is killing us all, so we thought you should talk to him about being less of a stupid bastard about it, but you can kind of…you know…use it to talk to him. Break the ice, so to speak. It'd be good for you, I know it."

He was trying to protest, but she wouldn't hear it. Part of her really wanted some sort of reprieve from the heat, but a lot of her wanted Danny to talk to Nicholas again. She wanted him to be happy, and she wanted Nicholas to stay, if not for Danny then for the village. And Danny really needed him, she could tell.

Nicholas sat on the hill beside his cottage, watching the stars roll by and waiting for the earth to cool, nightfall the only time when he was free to be outside anymore without suffering. He didn't let on to anyone, not the townsfolk or his fellow officers or the delinquents he still ran down, that he was dying in the heat, melting like a wax figure held too close to the sun, dripping bits of himself everywhere as he tried desperately to gather himself back together.

He was glad that Liam hadn't called in a while. Part of him was afraid of what he'd say. Despite his thickening psychological armor, the part of himself that'd always been hidden was feeling more and more like that wax these days, like even the tiniest of hairline fractures would send it oozing out. No matter how strong the walls he put up, the inside felt more and more vulnerable.

He was glad that Danny wasn't bothering him. But part of him missed him terribly. He found himself longing after him at times, watching him across the office or letting his gaze follow Danny's retreating form as the two passed one another, inevitably without saying more than a few benign words. He beat his head mentally these days, telling himself to kill his emotions, but it wasn't working. He had so much time to think these days, so much opportunity to work on really shutting off, that it was now becoming difficult to separate the two: private life and work.

Footsteps ripped him out of his pondering, and looking around sharply, he saw a familiar face staring at him from beside the garden gate, head cocked just barely, a small yet forced smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey," Danny called quietly.

"Hey," Nicholas replied, his expression totally blank.

They were silent for a moment before Nicholas sort of nodded to himself, waving Danny over to him. Coming around the side of the cottage, Danny mounted the slight incline and sat down heavily beside Nicholas, letting out a nervous sigh as he settled himself on the grass.

"It's beautiful tonight," Nicholas observed, looking up at the stars. "You'd never guess the same sky made so many people suffer during the day."

"It's not like it means to," Danny replied, his tone off-hand yet matter of fact at the same time. "It's not all that uncommon for good things to be harmful, you know, if you get too much or summat like that, I suppose."

Nicholas made an indistinct noise in reply. It sounded like Danny was talking about _him_ all of a sudden, like Nicholas was a drug or weapon of some sort: Useful in some situations, harmful in others.

Of course, Danny was actually thinking about Narcissus, but Nicholas wasn't as familiar with Roman mythology as he should have been.

They were silent, watching the sky, sighing simultaneously as a cool breeze drew over them slowly.

"I missed you," Nicholas murmured, almost to himself, but Danny caught the words.

"I missed you, too," he replied softly.

"D'you think-" Nicholas began, turning to look at Danny, but his words caught in his throat.

Danny had turned to face him a moment before Nicholas decided to do the same, and now only inches apart, their hands met in the grass for the first time in weeks. They just stared, mouths dry and minds blanking, lost in a twilight world of starlight and apprehension.

Without daring to think, Danny's free hand came to rest on Nicholas's chest, finding the material damp from heat and humidity, feeling the impression of toned and flushed skin. He applied a hint of pressure, pushing Nicholas on his back, the rise of the hill making the angle slightly off as Danny leaned down over him. Hands traced up his sides, curling behind his shoulders, pulling him down, and for a brief instant before their mouths met, Danny was sure he could see more than starlight reflecting in Nicholas's eyes.

It wasn't desperate or needy, nor was it particularly sweet, but their lips felt a definite sort of _right_ when they met, soft and warm and fascinating. Danny's tongue pressed against the depression between Nicholas's lips, feeling the barrier cave as Nicholas sighed, drawing their mouths closer together, forming a complete bond as their heads tipped just right to accommodate each other, and for the first time tasted what a lover's kiss was really like.

Without realizing it Danny had straddled his friend, wrapping one arm around Nicholas's waist as the other cupped the side of Nick's face in his hand. Their tongues met languidly, lapping at foreign flesh before pressing solidly together, inciting all sorts of wonderful and interesting little noises on Nicholas's part, and making Danny press down into him almost forcefully.

"Danny," Nicholas suddenly gasped, his head snapping back, eyes wide. He knew what that feeling was, what it meant, and what would become of them if they succumbed to it.

_He wanted to_…

"You don't have to say anything," Danny sighed, dejected, leaning to rest his forehead against Nicholas's. "I know I can't make you mine."

"That…that's not it," Nicholas choked out, hands balling desperately into the fabric of Danny's shirt, begging him with his body to stay. He didn't know how else to say it.

"Then what's wrong?" Danny asked, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly. "What's wrong with you and me, eh? Dammit, Nick, I love you, no matter what people say, no matter what _you_ say, and no matter what some bloody fucking tart in London might try to do about it."

"…I'm…I'm _scared_," Nicholas admitted, feeling pinpricks of water begin at the corners of his eyes. "I…I don't know how to feel this, Danny… I don't, I'm sorry, and I want to. I want to _so badly_-"

"Then let me help," Danny cut him off, both hands now cupping Nicholas's face, their eyes locked, foreheads still touching. "You always wanted to learn how to shut off, right? And you _always_ want to be good at your job, Lord knows… But to do that, Nicholas, you need to learn to _feel_. You have to care, really _care_ for someone besides yourself, and you have to accept care and affection in return. You _have_ to, or all you'll ever be is fucking RoboCop, and everybody _hates him_."

Through the threat of his tears, Nicholas laughed. Leave it to Danny to throw in the reference…

"And you're going to show me how to do that?" Nicholas said, almost in a deadpan tone of voice, hinting at skepticism.

After a moment, Danny nodded slowly.

"I'll show you more than that," Danny finally replied, leaning down and kissing Nicholas again.

In that moment it seemed that all the stars could have fallen from the sky and the only one worth caring about was the one Nicholas was already holding.


	9. Chapter 9

"You seen Nicholas yet?" Cartwright asked, throwing open the old door that still bore a plack reading, "NWC," and nearly scaring Wainwright to death.

"Fucker," Wainwright grumbled, passing a hand over his face to calm his nerves and stop his heart from racing.

"Come on, mate, have you or not?" Cartwright pressed, throwing himself onto a free swivel chair and spinning left and right, his body moving but his head remaining fixed toward Wainwright.

"No," Wainwright barked, quickly shifting the angle on camera 27 to face the south side of the pub, rather than looking toward the building and possibly into somebody's suite.

Cartwright was still staring at him. It seemed a question was being silently forced out of him, but he wanted Wainwright to guess what was on his mind, first.

"Why? Should I have?" Wainwright finally prompted, pretending to be transfixed by the monitors, letting Cartwright have his little moment of giddy satisfaction.

Sometimes he really wanted to strangle that man…

"He's bloody skating," Cartwright almost giggled, a sound that Wainwright was especially fond of, especially due to the lack of frequency with which he encountered it.

"Saw him over by the market this morning buying apples," Cartwright continued. "He was particularly careful to compliment Mrs. Harrington's choice of shawl today, and Jasper Montgomery made a point of stopping him -- God only knows the reasoning behind the things that man can come up with. The point is, _something's happened_!"

Wainwright sighed. Leave it to Cartwright to jump all over the gossip scene like a fucking shut-in housewife. It was useful when they had an ongoing investigation, but other times it was irksome, wearisome, and something else Wainwright wouldn't discuss.

"He probably got laid," Wainwright said off-hand, and immediately regretted it.

"Aw, fuckin' 'ell!" Cartwright gasped, his face lighting up in that gorgeous smile of his. "You don't think his ol' boyfriend is in town? That'd sure give the ladies palpitations, eh? Maybe even get those sweet little things of Ernie's out in the street again."

"Awright for that," Wainwright laughed, finding this vein of conversation fist-punch worthy.

He leaned back in his chair, glancing sidelong at Cartwright as he thought about the possible repurcussions of the Sergeant having a lover. Would their workload change? Would they get another officer in the precinct? Or would Nicholas actually leave, now that he had a real thing going with somebody? The Met had always held an allure to him, to be certain, but he couldn't leave Andy…

"Hey Andy," Cartwright suddenly asked, bringing Wainwright out of his revere.

"Yeah, mate?" he replied; he liked it when he and Andy spoke alone, because they could call one another by their first names, and not get confused or agitated. He liked his solitary company best for that reason.

"What d'you think that's like?" Cartwright asked, narrowing his eyes and pouting his lower lip as he always did when in thought.

"What's what like?" Wainwright stalled, hoping to forego an answer.

"You know…you and a mate, instead of a lass, yeah?" Cartwright replied, clearing his throat and leaning back on his own chair, crossing his arms.

"Like a soapbox race," Wainwright offered before he could stop himself.

"Like a fucking _what_?" Cartwright repeated, confused and loving it.

"You know," Wainwright said, waving a hand vaguely as he felt his collar go hot, forcing himself to turn and look at his friend, "like one of those silly races. The cars aren't real. It's just a bunch of lads having fun, telling themselves they're racecar drivers, but they never really will be. It's all pretend, like a joke, and nobody wins in those situations."

"Well, _somebody's_ got to win," Cartwright contradicted, leaning forward purposefully on his chair, bringing his face uncomfortably close to Wainwright's.

"Sure they do," Wainwright said, feigning a quick laugh; he wanted to pull away, but…but he _couldn't_… "But what the hell do you get, eh? Some dodgy trophy and a bunch of lads wishing they were you, but not really meaning it, because it's such a trivial thing."

"It's only trivial if that's what you make of it," Cartwright chuckled.

"Oi, Cartwright!" called Tony from somewhere down the hall. "Get your lazy arse in here! You and Walker are going out to Petey's again! There's a call-"

"See you at the pub, then?" Wainwright said, forgetting himself and allowing a relieved sigh to partially escape before snapping his mouth shut.

For a moment Cartwright fixed him with a deadly stare, sizing him up. Wainwright felt like he was just watching him sweat, trying to wriggle into his head and guess its wonky contents.

Cartwright lurched forward, lips pressing flush to Wainwright's, his friend trying to muffle his protest as Cartwright grabbed Wainwright's right shoulder and held him in place. He allowed his tongue to sneak out and lap teasingly along Wainwright's mouth, eliciting a sultry moan, before standing up and pulling their mouths apart suddenly.

"Yeah, see you tonight," Cartwright winked, before rushing out of the room and down the hall.

"Heeeey Danny!" Doris sang at him as he came skittering into the office half an hour late. He'd overslept somehow, probably forgetting his alarm when he fell exhausted into bed the night prior, and had it not been for a very angry goose getting into a fight with little Robby Shoals and Danny's dustbin, he may have slept clear through until noon.

"Nick's not in yet, is he?" Danny panted, looking about the office to see if he'd been caught.

"Just got here, actually," came Nicholas's voice from behind him, making Danny whirl about and yelp.

Nicholas caught his arm just in time to keep him from pitching over, and as he pulled him back to a safe, vertical position, they shared a very awkward moment; soft eyes met and fingers dancing across Danny's sleeve, an imperceptible hand tugging momentarily on Nicholas's hip.

"Right," Nicholas finally said, snapping himself back to reality. "Doris, where'd the Andy's get to?"

"Upstairs," Doris replied, raising her eyebrows innocently and pointing at the ceiling, as if it were transparent. "On the monitors again, I think."

"I need them out at Langdon's, ASAP," Nicholas said, partially to himself, as he left the room and took the stairs three at time, until the sound of his rapid footfalls were the only sign that he was overhead.

"So how was it?" Doris asked, rounding on Danny almost immediately.

Danny stumbled back again, bouncing against his desk, but let out a relieved laugh as he did so.

"Fucking fantastic," he smiled, making Doris clap her hands together and giggle as well.

"I could tell he's feeling better," Doris remarked, twitching her head toward the stairs, despite the fact that Nicholas was now somewhere _above_ them. "And you look smashing yourself, Danny," she added.

"Well, we're not quite _there_ yet," Danny said, biting his bottom lip, "but I can still hope, yeah?"

"With the way Sergeant Angel's acting," Doris replied, putting an arm around Danny's shoulders, "I'd say you could more than hope."

"We had a sighting last night," Tony said, looking dire, as they sat in the wire room on the second floor, four of them packed into the small room that was already crowded with electronic do-whats-its.

Cartwright, Walker and Angel, all with arms crossed, were standing a respectable distance from one another, facing Fisher, who was leaning on the desk where the LiveWire machine was bolted down. There'd been an incident where an old PC named Arnold Gold had thrown a fit and nearly busted the machine to bits after learning he couldn't make it dispense Pez. Gold had been…special.

"Just Skinner?" Cartwright asked.

"That leaves us short one man," Angel said, biting his lip. "It's doubtful they'd separate, though. Not until they found a haven, so either this is very lucky, very false, or very, very bad."

"Smashing options," Tony said with a nod.

"Aj ammer hom inisbach eh?" Walker grumbled in his normal tone.

"I wanted Cartwright here to go out," Fisher replied, somehow interpretingWalker's sludgey words. "It was somewhere near Abottonhill, and he's got some family out there."

"S'right," Cartwright offered, sounding somewhat dejected.

"Cartwright, eh?" Angel said, nodding his head slowly. Turning to Cartwright, he said, "Andy, take Detective Wainwright with you as well, please."

"Sergeant, I-" Andy began to protest, his face turning somewhat ashen.

"I expect you both back here in oh-three-hundred, and with a full explanation as to why you'll inevitably mess this up," Nicholas cut him off.

Cartwright stared at him for a moment, somewhat slack jawed. Nicholas sounded like a right prick, but there was no way he was going to let Nicholarse Angle-ophial mock his work.

He just wasn't sure how to go and face Andy again at the moment…

"Gid awooderin," Walker snapped, making Cartwright jump slightly, before shooing him out of the room.

"Walker and I are heading out to Ayrshire, then," Tony said, addressing Nicholas. "I assumed, you and Danny…"

"We'll be at the bridge," Nicholas replied. "And that'll leave Doris here, unfortunately, with our resident lodger, but it can't be helped. We need everyone out today, I think. Give a good impression."

A slight rap on the door made all three men turn, seeing Doris waving awkwardly back at them as she took a ginger step into the room.

"Sergeant Angel?" she asked, a worried look on her face, "You've a call from London."


	10. Chapter 10

"Did they say who it was?" Nicholas asked, stepping out of the room and catching Doris by the shoulder before they went downstairs.

"It's…it's Liam," Doris replied, her voice hushed. When the call had come in, Danny's face had fallen considerably, and had Inspector Nash not sounded so dire on the phone, she wouldn't have taken the call to Nicholas at all.

Of course, she _had_ been forced to have a fan girl moment, which Danny was quick to snap her out of by jabbing her in the ribs, and Liam had offered a very professional, "Thank you," despite the obvious flush he had to be sporting by that time.

Nicholas cursed silently to himself, punching the wall to let off some steam.

"Does Danny know?" he asked her, not realizing how compromising that would sound.

"Yes," she replied, Nicholas suddenly sweeping past her and jumping down the stairs.

Amidst the clutter of desks, Danny was leaning against Nicholas's, the receiver pressed to his face, his back toward Doris and Nicholas.

Nicholas froze. He knew that Danny _had_ to be talking to Liam. Who the fuck-all-else could it be?

His blood ran cold, his legs felt like jelly, and time seemed to swim in slow-motion as he moved between the desks toward his own. He felt like he was watching a train crash into a pile of babies. He couldn't look away…

Swiveling in the chair, Danny smiled at Nicholas and Doris, before continuing his conversation.

And then Nicholas really did feel his legs let out.

"Hello?" Doris said into the receiver, snatching it off Nicholas's desk.

"Um, hi?" the caller ventured, sounding thoroughly taken aback. "Is…I need to speak with Sergeant Angel."

"Can I ask who's calling, please?" Doris asked, Danny leaning against Nicholas's desk to watch Doris's face for a sign as to the character of the caller.

"This is Chief Inspector Liam Nash of the London Metropolitan Police," the caller identified himself, sounding ever so professional. "Please let Sergeant Angel know that this is a priority four issue, thank you."

Doris felt the receiver drift away from her face as the gravity of the situation hit her. Danny and Nicholas had just patched things up, and now Liam was calling again? And what on earth could be the priority issue? The Metropolitan desk hadn't issued a four since the terrorist bombings in London. Most importantly, she was speaking to _Liam Nash_, her idol, and if this wasn't worth more than a few brownie points at the next UWC meeting, nothing was.

"_Inspector_…Nash?" she repeated into the receiver, catching Danny's failing expression out of the corner of her eye.

"Y…yes," he replied, his demeanor shattered almost instantly. "Nic-Sergeant Angel is in, I take it?"

"Oh, well, he's a bit busy right now," Doris tittered, "But…but I could speak to you, if it's such an emergency, I _suppose_…"

"I really should-" Liam began, but Doris cut him off.

"We're really a very small village, after all," she said, her tone silky, "Nothing major happens here. Not the same as in the city, I take it. It must be very…exciting."

"Well, it does have its moments," Liam admitted. "Personally, though, I should think the village atmosphere would allow for more intimate crime, really. More interesting, like one of those silly American romance novels."

The words 'intimate' and 'romance' made Doris giggle, and she could feel Danny begin to jab her in the ribs.

"Go get Nicholas," he said forcefully, taking Doris off-guard, and as she turned to snap at him, she saw just how serious he was: He was never curt with her, but now was not the time to test his patience, she realized.

Without thinking, she handed the receiver to Danny and sped away to find Nicholas.

"Ummm…hello?" he heard Sergeant Nash say over the line. He felt an urge to hang up, but a niggling curiosity just wouldn't let him.

"You're Liam Nash?" he said into the receiver, spitting out the words like they'd burn him if they stuck to his tongue for too long.

"Yes," Liam replied, "And with whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Daniel Butterman," Danny replied, "Nick may have mentioned me."

There was silence on the other end. Actually, there was silence on both ends, as they both had been standing beside their individual desks, but simultaneously felt floored into sitting in the closest available chair.

"…Danny?" Liam ventured, clearing his throat.

"Hello, Liam," Danny affirmed.

"I, um…this is…well, hi," Liam managed, adding a nervous laugh. "I was really hoping to meet you under different circumstances…like, face-to-face, and what have you…"

"Don't worry on it," Danny sighed, rubbing his eyes. Before he could bite his tongue, he asked, "Why're you calling, Sergeant?"

"It's…it's difficult," Liam replied, sounding tense. "There's been an incident in London. Things are getting very bad up here, Danny, and there's a strong indication that things will get worse everywhere, soon."

"So you're not after Nicholas anymore?" Danny blurted out.

This time Liam really did laugh.

"Sorry, mate," he apologized quickly. "It's just been…one of those mornings, and…No, Nicholas and I are just mates, that's all. We…we were complicated for a bit, but we were always friends primarily.

Now you, on the other hand, if he hasn't told you yet, are special, Danny. And I think if the bastard hasn't said it yet, it's high time somebody put it out there for him. It's hard to explain, but…What he and I had, it wasn't made to last. But _you_…you may very well break his heart if you're not careful."

Liam sighed, and Danny bit his lip, grunting to show he was still present.

"It's stupid of me to have gotten jealous," Danny chuckled. "But I really thought-"

"You thought he was calling me to get back together?" Liam finished.

"Either that or go on a religious-based killing spree in Boston, Massachusetts in the most kick-arse gun battle the Irish have ever managed to produce," Danny joked.

"Veritas, aequitas," Liam laughed in turn. "Boondock Saints was a fucking _awesome_ film, mate."

Danny heard footsteps behind him, and he knew his time was almost up.

"Well, I can see why Nicholas liked you," Danny said. "I mean, if not for the sexy voice…"

"And I could say the same to you, babe," Liam cut in. "Either that or your impeccable taste in films."

"You don't by some weird chance like He-Man, do you?" Danny asked.

"That and Transformers," Liam admitted, lowering his voice a touch, and Danny realized the office in London had to be fairly crowded, no matter what kind of office the Sergeant might have.

Danny turned and smiled at Doris and Nicholas, hearing their footfalls draw near, and was tempted to flash a thumbs-up at Nicholas when he saw the pained expression on his face.

"Listen, mate, Nicholas is here, so you should talk to him, I think," Danny said rapidly.

"Oh, yeah, yes, sure," Liam said in a similarly hurried tone.

"Hang on, then," Danny responded, dropping the receiver from his ear and standing up, a chipper expression on his face.

Nicholas was sitting on the edge of the desk, looking somewhat nauseas, while Doris stood about a foot away, apprehension her flavor of the day.

"Right, then," Danny said with a happy sigh, "Seems there's some trouble in London. Lia-Sergeant Nash needs to speak with you, Nicholas, before you pass out."

He held out the receiver, which Nicholas took weakly, pressing it to his ear.

"Bollocks," Liam spat, loud enough for Danny and Doris to hear.

Nicholas finally exhaled, smiling with relief.

"Fucker," he replied casually. "What's wrong?"

The conversation grew quiet, and despite all the auditory straining Doris and Danny tried, they couldn't catch a word. The look on Nicholas's face became darker and more concerned, and by the end of the conversation, both of them were filled with dread.

"What's the plan?" Nicholas finally spoke, his tone deep and no-nonsense, like the day he first came to town.

"Right," he said, not bothering to say 'goodbye' before slamming down the receiver.

He looked up slowly from the phone, eyes flashing from Danny to Doris and back again, before instinctively feeling for the gun at his hip.

"Inspector Evan Barclay was kidnapped last evening," he said, his tone dire. "He, along with officers Kipp Stanton and Jordey Conlan, were last seen responding to a domestic violence call when half the city suffered a black-out. Total chaos. Two hours gone, and nobody can account for them.

At this point, the only clue is a cut-and-paste letter from an unknown source claiming that the officers will be released as soon as an undisclosed sum of money is placed in their possession. There is no indication of when the Lieutenant will be freed."

"What's this got to do with us, then?" Danny asked, his eyes twinkling with excitement, though he knew better than to act out. Lieutenant Barclay was Nicholas's superior, and no doubt he still felt some allegiance to the man.

"The letter was signed only by means of a clipped add for Ayrshire Farm butter," Nicholas replied. "They're calling our perp the Butter Man."

Slowly, the realization dawned on Doris, and in turn Danny, but it was Doris's scream that pierced the building, sending everyone running for the office.

"Sandford is going national," Nicholas murmured.


	11. Chapter 11

'Chaos' was the word of the day. 

From the moment Nicholas set the phone back in its cradle, the line had not ceased to ring, and though they'd put off answering initially, once they started receiving messages, the usual trickle became a deluge.

The wire was spitting out updates every fifteen minutes or so; MI5 had been putting out communiqués, as well as SO12 in cooperation with the SDU. A state of emergency had been declared within the London city limits, and no traffic was allowed on the streets. Reports of bomb threats, chemical attacks, and bus hijackings were pouring into official email inboxes faster than Vioxx spam, all of which were fraudulent but nonetheless disturbing. Albert Hall and Thames House were under lockdown, as numerous strange, metallic boxes affixed with digital timers had been located in and around both sites. The Home Office was experiencing rolling black-outs and inconsistent wired services, among other communications problems.

For some reason, everyone was calling _Sandford_.

Well, the 'some reason' was actually due to the fact that all the terrorist emails were signed either with the Ayrshire butter logo or the letters, 'NWA,' and one misguided comment from Liam to Kenneth Kincaid, the bastardly Met Chief Inspector, had turned everyone on to the little village in Gloucestershire.

It was widely believed that Skinner and Butterman Sr. had somehow orchestrated their escape with the help of this terrorist group, most likely still functioning under the Neighborhood Watch guise, and due to the existence of a group under just such a name in nearly every little town in the Shire counties, it was impossible to determine where the group was at all. Under close examination via tele-conference, in which every member of the Sanford Police Service was grilled to a nice, char-black state, the DIS was convinced that the village was not a harbor any longer, and that no one on-hand knew anything of an extensive terrorist network.

So they were of little help at best, save in the continuous inquiry as to the group's habits, composition, motives, and a thousand other tiny details that the geniuses in London just couldn't fathom without hounding Nicholas and his precinct to no end. It got to the point where the linguistic composition of the questions was so subversive and vicious that Walker, who most of the officials refused to speak to anyway, went into an incoherent tirade at an intelligence officer at MI5 that ended in his smashing the phone down so hard the receiver cracked from stem to stern.

Despite the furor and frenzy, everyone was secretly glad for the chaos. It overwhelmed the fear, pushed it down, kept it in check until the end of the day when each of them would inevitably go home and sit in their homes, awake all night, with the lights on and the doors locked, until they unavoidably passed out from exhaustion. There would be no sleep, not for them, not until this new threat was neutralized.

Because, deep down, if this _was_ Skinner and Butterman and some new NWA group as everyone feared, then Sandford was in trouble. As if sensing this insecurity, the Home Office had put a rush order on all pending promotions, finally filling the upper offices and making Nicholas Chief Inspector in title, and not just spirit. Danny finally became a Sergeant, taking Tony's old office as Fisher became an Inspector, and two new officers' applications were verified and accepted, meaning they could push for more recruitment and manpower. It also meant Turner got to babysit tomorrow, but that wasn't something they were particularly concerned with at the moment.

As the day wore on, though, the trend of black-outs and threats began to spread. Reports of more metallic boxes were reported in Edinburgh, Leeds, Manchester and Belfast, as well as at the Portcullis House and Westminster Abbey in London. A virus called "Village of the Year" began to shut down all computer access across the country, and Reuters was entirely offline. At last mention, bomb squads were en route to several of the locations infested with the strange boxes, before a half-hour lull in all communications came suddenly at 6:46PM.

And then the Portcullis House blew up.

--------------------------

"This is some fucked up shit," Danny muttered over his beer.

He, Nicholas, Tony and the Andys were sitting in the pub, which was basically empty, in the same corner where not long ago Tony had coached Nicholas on the intricacies of flashbacks and attention deficit disorders.

"No offense, mate, but your dad is _insane_ as all _hell_ if he's really got anything to do with this," Tony grumbled, letting out a terse laugh at the end.

"What d'you mean?" Danny said defensively, glaring at Tony, which was not very intimidating, between his usual cuteness and extreme level of exhaustion.

"He means Frank's a bloody terrorist," Wainwright snapped, slamming his half-empty glass down on the table. The three or four other people in the pub paused to gawk, a brief and uncomfortable silence falling over room, before the buzz of concerned chatter began once more.

"He's still me dad," Danny muttered in return.

"D'you…d'you really think it's them, though?" Cartwright asked quietly, voicing the question that had been eating at all of them since the first call from Liam. "Before they only did it for the 'greater good' and all, but this doesn't fit with anything that the NWA stood for. Why would they go about weighing into every chuffer and chugger they can lay their hands on?"

"There's no doubt in my mind that this is somehow attached to Skinner," Nicholas said, his tone low and intense, "and if he's there, then Frank will follow. As to why they're lashing out at the government and the citizenry, the only thing I believe they could be after is a regime change. They've managed to start a grass-roots campaign to destroy the system from behind prison walls, and with stunning and rather morbid success."

"But how does that work in with any sense of 'greater good'?" Cartwright asked, shaking his head. "It's pretty evil, honestly."

"The NWA originally campaigned for a utopian society void of crime, homelessness, and other blemishes on society," Nicholas replied, silencing both Danny and Tony, who'd been on the verge of speaking. "They probably convinced these…other participants, most likely persons similar to our original perps, that a government willing to detain and prosecute those with such a 'noble cause' was obsolete or perverse."

"So we're dealing with a farmer's rebellion?" Tony summarized, rubbing his temples to alleviate his mounting tension headache.

"Or a farmer's genocide," Cartwright murmured.

They all fell silent, completely overwhelmed, at a loss for words. It was all a bit much to handle…

----------------------------------

"Hey, Nick?" Danny whispered, lying in the grass beside Nicholas's cottage, staring up at the stars. They'd left the pub half an hour ago around 11PM, and had gone back to Nicholas's in silence, the country roads somehow eerie that night.

"Yeah, Danny?" Nicholas replied, not bothering to look over at his friend.

"I…d'you suppose it'd make more sense if dad had put this all together before he got arrested?" Danny asked, scrunching up his face as he rolled on his side to face Nicholas.

Sighing, Nicholas rolled on his side as well, their prone bodies matching reflections of one another as they lay on the brittle grass.

"It does make more sense," Nicholas said, resting his head in his hand, his elbow making a divot in the dry earth.

His hand reached out of its own accord, smoothing Danny's hair against the side of his head, cupping his face in his hand. Wordlessly, Danny scooted closer, until not more than a couple inches separated them, their breath loud in one another's ears.

"I don't know if this is terrifying or absolutely wicked," Danny murmured, laughing softly as he spoke.

"D'you mean today or…us?" Nicholas asked, moving his hand to Danny's shoulder, which seemed like more neutral territory.

After a moment of chewing his lip, Danny said tentatively, "Can I venture a both?"

Nicholas forced a smile, trying to mask his apprehension, as his eyes drifted pointedly away from Danny's.

"I didn't mean like that," Danny said hurriedly, reaching over and placing his free hand on Nicholas's hip. "I mean, yes, today was pretty balls-to-the-wall, but us…I mean the 'us' thing isn't scary or bad or anything…It's like abdabs at the top of a rollercoaster, you know?"

"Danny, sometimes I have no clue what you're on about," Nicholas chuckled, though he did allow his hand to drift back toward Danny's face, resting on his neck and against his jaw.

His fingers began to caress Danny's face on their own, mapping out the contour of his cheek, his ear, the fringes of his sideburns, memorizing the texture of his skin. His face drifted closer, encouraged by the hand slowly traveling up and down along his side, moving to wrap around his back and pull him in tighter, until they were flush together. Their noses brushed, Nicholas's eyes half lidded and Danny's wide open as he studied Nicholas's face, drinking in the sight of him, enjoying the way he looked when all the walls were finally dropped.

He dipped his head forward, lips searching for Nicholas's in a closed-mouth kiss, but found them just out of his reach. Warm breath ghosted against Danny's face, and Nicholas's fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Danny's neck, controlling their position with subtle tensing of his wrist; it was a sort of game, teasing and holding out like this, reading each other's body language.

He leaned forward, relishing the idea of the game, parting his lips and making as though to kiss Nicholas again, though stopping a hair short of meeting his face. He breathed against Nicholas's lips, warm, wet air with a hint of alcohol and lust, inciting Nicholas to copy form. By degrees their mouths came closer, each of them wetting their lips, dipping and withdrawing their heads, teasing and jousting in anticipation.

The hand against Nicholas's back found the hem of his shirt, greedy fingers dipping beneath the fabric to physically explore skin that Danny so desperately wanted to see. He traced Nicholas's vertebrae with his fingers, trailing gentle caresses from his shoulder blades downward. His fingers became flirtatious as they discovered the small of Nicholas's back and the waistline of his pants, dipping below the edge toward his ass.

Nicholas moaned softly, eyes now firmly shut, his mind a thousand miles away, and he finally leaned in to Danny's lips, panting into his mouth, grinding his hips into Danny like a guileless teenager. His head bobbed forward gently, making a steady, deliberate rhythm against Danny's lips, letting a strangled cry break into Danny's mouth when fiendish fingers began to work around to his front, still trailing below his waistline.

He felt himself being pushed onto his back, Danny rolling with him until he was half lying on top of him. His lips traveled down to Nicholas's neck, tongue and lips and teeth sucking diligently on pale skin, leaving marks that swiftly blossomed into pale roses against a white backdrop. Nicholas moaned, clutching Danny tightly to him, arching his back as Danny toyed with the elastic of his boxers.

Pulling at the collar of Nicholas's shirt, Danny dragged his tongue slowly from Nicholas's collar bone along the length of his neck to his earlobe, which he took between his lips and suckled gently. The whimper Nicholas let out was almost too much, and he stilled the hand down Nicholas's pants as he worked at making Nicholas mew like that again.

The sound of a dog barking in the distance made them gasp and leap apart, flushed and flustered, gasping for breath as they sat bolt upright and looked about sharply, guilt smeared on their faces.

"…I should go," Danny muttered, standing and brushing himself off.

"You don't…have to," Nicholas said, perhaps too urgently, as he jumped to his feet as well, nearly bumping against Danny as he did.

The shyness, the barriers, the awkwardness were all back.

"Nah, it's late, mate," Danny replied, trying to be dismissive and friendly. "We've got a hell of a day tomorrow, probably, and I'm as knackered as I've ever been."

For a moment they stood together, fidgeting madly; neither one of them wanted to call it an evening yet, but they were too timid to voice the desire. They weren't at that point yet.

Finally, Nicholas leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Danny's mouth before muttering 'good-night' and fleeing for the door.

"Yeah," Danny whispered, smiling to himself, "good-night, Nick."


	12. Chapter 12

**TITLE:** If Protocol Allows (12/14)

**PROMPT:** Wait

**RATING:** R

**PAIRING: **Nicholas/Danny, Wainwright/Cartwright

**SUMMARY:** The Neighborhood Watch has been done away with and the village has cooled down, but while Nick is doing his best to 'shut off' and connect, Danny is trying to 'turn on,' but is it really what Nick wants anymore? And are country roads really the best place to get off?

**WARNINGS:** This chapter includes language, sexual situations, and general fluff.

**DISCLAIMER:** No 1337 pwnzors, I swears on the Precious.

Andy Wainwright was not an easily flustered man. Agitated, snarky, and insufferably slick, his sharp wit made him a difficult contender in any verbal or mental battle.

Basically, he'd been bullied a lot as a child, and he'd never been quite big enough to defend himself.

Despite himself, however, he found he couldn't be within a meter of Andy Cartwright without losing all cognitive processes, including speech, hearing, and breath control.

Damn him…

If it hadn't been for the day's horrifying events, he was sure his head would have literally exploded from the stress. He could imagine tiny bits of his skull and tissue raining down on the village, covering it in a fine sheen of blood and endless headaches.

The painful imagery made him chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Cartwright asked, yanking him back to the present.

It was nearly midnight, the pub was closed, and the two of them were walking home together, Wainwright with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Cartwright scuffing his shoes in the dirt, kicking up clouds, as they walked along one of the outlying, unpaved roads.

All around Sandford were little roads of similar character; dotted with trees, lined with hedges, houses scattered every hundred yards or so, all with quaint shutters and picket fences, homey little gardens and paraphernalia making them look almost sickeningly scenic. Wainwright was weary of it, really.

In the distance loomed a cluster of houses, built together back when the occupants were all intermarried, that had been turned into rentals and split accordingly to be allotted per room and floor depending on the landlord: bachelor housing. Wainwright and Cartwright lived one building and one floor apart, on opposite sides of neighboring houses, and had for the last few years, since neither of them was married.

They paused beside a high stone wall, the remnants of a grain house that had fallen down during their childhood, Wainwright leaning against the precarious structure to pull out a cigarette, as Cartwright watched him intently. Wainwright was aware of his fellow Andy's eyes but ignored them, finding a partially mangled, half-smoked stub and continuing on to look for his lighter.

Cartwright shifted nervously, kicking at the dirt again. His body language spoke volumes; fear, anxiety, something intangible, unnamable, that made him cast about like a high-strung kid. He looked pleadingly at Wainwright, standing out of the moonlight in the shadow of the ruins, pulling out his lighter finally, pretending to be oblivious. The heat had started the drama this morning, but the fear was going to put him over the edge.

"Wait," Cartwright pleaded, a weak, strangled cry that was far too loud as he closed in suddenly on Wainwright. He plucked the cigarette from his friend's fingers, taking the lighter as well, and pocketed them both.

"What the hell?" Wainwright began to protest, when he looked up at his friend and realized just how close he'd gotten. If he raised a hand, even in the slightest degree…

"We need to talk," Cartwright said more gently, his tone plaintive and his eyes desperate. He leaned forward, his hands open and resting against the rocks on either side of Wainwright's shoulders, trapping him against the wall.

"About what?" Wainwright said, looking away from Cartwright, glad to still be wearing his sunglasses.

As if reading his mind, Cartwright's hands came up and gently removed Wainwright's glasses, revealing his anxious expression. He placed the sunglasses in his back pocket, taking another step forward as he did, so that their bodies were almost flush together.

"I wanted to talk…about us," Cartwright said gently, arms at his sides, body unnaturally stiff. "I may have…done something wrong?"

"Forget about it," Wainwright said, unable to look away, but forcing an amiable smile. "It's nothing, just…nerves."

"No, it's not," Cartwright sighed. "It's not nerves, Andy, it's…I've known you for so long, and I don't want to ruin that, but…"

"Andy," Wainwright interrupted, laying a hand on his friend's arm, making him jump slightly. "You're tense, I get that, but you didn't do anything _wrong_, mate. C'mon, when's the last time you got any action, eh? You just need to find yourself a girl and-"

His words cut short as Cartwright's arms tangled around him, one tightening dangerously around his waist, the other behind his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head back slightly. Cartwright's mouth was on his as they crashed backwards against the wall, taking advantage of Wainwright's surprise to force his way into his mouth, tasting the hidden desire that he'd been unwilling to voice even in his own thoughts. He groaned involuntarily as Cartwright rolled his hips against him, feeling heat and dampness and want resonating between their bodies, and he allowed his hands to grasp his partner in all the places he never would have dared before; fingers splayed across his back, grabbing at his ass to pull him in again for another bout of friction.

"Andrew," Cartwright whispered, breaking the kiss for barely a moment before leaning further down, his mouth finding a delicate spot on Wainwright's neck just below his jaw, making his friend lean his head against the wall and arch his back, slightly giddy and surprisingly desperate.

Diligent fingers wriggled their way under Wainwright's shirt, creeping up his stomach and trailing across his chest, finding one of his nipples and gently teasing it, making Wainwright gasp appreciatively. His shirt was creeping up, exposing his belly to the night air as the hand not busy providing this new form of torture to his chest wrapped around his back again. Cartwright pressed his hips in again, the unmistakable hardness in his pants grinding against a similar one in his partner's, eliciting a sadistic smile from Cartwright as Wainwright moaned once again, going weak in the knees.

"Wait a minute," Wainwright finally gasped, reluctantly pushing Cartwright off him. "Andy, we…we can't-"

"Why not?" was Cartwright's angry reply. He was flushed, panting, his fingers itching madly to grab at flesh again, to do horribly unspeakable things to him that would leave marks in all the best places. "Why the fuck not, Andy?"

"No, Andy," Wainwright stopped him, holding his hands up defensively, "I meant we can't _here_."

The meaning dawned slowly on Cartwright, making his fellow Andy chuckle as the realization became apparent in his face.

It was going to be one hell of a night.

Nicholas could not sleep for the idea of Danny.

It wasn't really any one thing, just a recurring idea that he was in some sort of danger, and he needed to be with him, to protect him, from whatever it was.

He suspected that this feeling was partially just a desire to be with him at all.

Lying in his darkened bedroom, there was little to do besides contemplate the day's events, and allow himself to fret over what the morning would bring.

_"I'll show you more than that."_

The words struck him like lightening, making him sit bolt upright in bed. He wasn't the sort of lad to have wet dreams, or wank off, or anything like that, but he was certainly feeling overheated, and it wasn't just atmospheric. He suddenly missed Danny more than ever.

Lying back, he sighed heavily, realizing just how strange everything had become. A year ago he was in London, the best of the best, the most revered –and apparently hated – cop in the Met, busting heads and taking names, loving his job and caring for little else. What he needed on a primal level, Jeanine could handle, and when he wanted something more, he could still count on Liam.

It was nothing personal, just business.

Danny…Danny was personal. Danny was different. Danny was _special_.

And he needed him. Now.

Shoving back his flat sheet, he swung his feet off the bed, getting up and throwing on a T-shirt and shorts, before grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

Sure, it was still the middle of the night, but some things just really can't wait.

And love waits for no one, be he man or angel.


	13. Chapter 13

**TITLE:** If Protocol Allows (13/14)

**PROMPT:** Tongue-Tied

**RATING:** NC-17

**PAIRING: **Nicholas/Danny PWP!

**SUMMARY:** The Neighborhood Watch has been done away with and the village has cooled down, but while Nick is doing his best to 'shut off' and connect, Danny is trying to 'turn on,' but is it really what Nick wants anymore? And is Nicholas a good late-night snack?

**WARNINGS:** This chapter includes language, Sin City, and sex. Yummm…

**DISCLAIMER:** No 1337 pwnzors, I swears on the Precious.

Danny sat in his living room watching Sin City, feeling himself rocking dangerously close to sleep as Elijah Wood got himself de-limbed and fed to a pack of angry dogs.

"Heh…that'll show the fugging hobbit," he chuckled to himself, his eyes getting heavy.

He'd been feeling a bit worked up when he got home, and as a means of cooling off, he'd flicked on the window fan and popped in a DVD, setting the volume low, relieved to find the first film on hand was also one of the few action titles he owned that bored him to death. Bruce Willis was a great actor, but he seemed to be selling himself cheap these days…

The sound of drumming on his front door made him jump, catching the time on the Superman clock in the front hall as he went to check the peephole; quarter past one in the morning. Quite the unholy time for visitors. A part of him was hoping for a vampire or a Sasquatch…

What he got was quite a bit better: Nicholas was slouching about restlessly, glancing down the lane before taking a step off the stoop, probably suspecting his friend had gone to bed. In a flash, he had the chain off and the door open, giving Nicholas one of his trademark, excited smiles.

"Hey," Nicholas said, smiling back, licking his lips as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

"What's the occasion, eh?" Danny laughed quietly, taking a step back and motioning for Nicholas to come in.

"I…I just…wanted to see you," Nicholas said, stepping inside as Danny closed the door, turning around so that Danny was trapped in the entryway.

Danny cocked his head, trying to read Nicholas's expression, as his friend looked pointedly at the floor.

"S'everything alright?" Danny asked. Nicholas was really acting stranger than usual…

"Yeah," Nicholas replied hurriedly, "Everything's fine."

They were silent for a bit, the sound of gunfire onscreen in the living room and the ticking of the wall clock filling the void.

"You wanna sit down, then?" Danny asked finally, taking a step forward.

Nicholas smiled awkwardly and stepped out of the way, hurriedly making his way into the living room and flopping down on the couch. Danny joined him after a moment, taking his time as he followed, trying to formulate in his head all the possible reasons for Nicholas's presence.

He decided to go with the one he liked.

"You still should get a plant," Nicholas said, looking from the television to Danny. "It's a vast improvement, having the boxes gone, mate, but really…"

"Nick," Danny laughed, "you and your silly decorating ideas. The only room in my house that matters is already perfect."

He meant the movie room. Nicholas laughed.

The film played on, but neither one of them was watching it. Danny's eyes were fixed on the top of Nicholas's head, and Nicholas was looking at his own hands, which were clasped fiercely between his knees, elbows on his thighs.

Danny could read Nicholas like a book. He had him to a science, after all. Something was up.

"Seriously, mate," Danny sighed heavily, turning his body to face Nicholas on the couch, "What's got you so flipped? The last time you got so bent out of shape, I had to stab you, remember?"

Nicholas laughed sheepishly again, but this time he looked up at Danny, their eyes meeting in the semi-darkness. It was so surreal, the way the black-and-white movie cast shadows over their faces, even the light seeming dark when set in such contrast. There was something there, something Nicholas wasn't saying in words, but shouting with his body, his tongue caught on his brain and stuck in his head.

Danny shifted closer, noting the way Nicholas leaned in with him, feeling the heat rolling off their bodies over the smothering heat the evening already provided. If they kept this up, they'd be on top of each other in a moment-

_That's what he wants._

It hit Danny like that same proverbial brick that'd been chasing Nicholas all this time, a mental blow that knocked all the sense into place, making Danny's fingers and the corners of his mouth twitch in anticipation.

"Danny," Nicholas whispered, due in part to the rush of hormones cascading through his body, and part to the fact that every breath brought their faces closer, until he was speaking Danny's name against his lips, and then against his tongue, as they finally met and tangled.

It was different than any time before. Gone was the fear, the need to dominate or fight back, to disallow this sort of fraternization. They were in private, hidden away where nobody could see or hear them, and all the barriers they'd erected for public appearances crashed down as Danny allowed Nicholas to creep his hands under his shirt, to pull him closer, to meet the motion of his mouth and tongue with equal need and love, and not leave all the emotion up to Danny.

Danny's fingers were busy as well, thumbs trailing across defined abs as his hands ran along Nicholas's sides, until the annoyance of his shirt became overwhelming; he grabbed the hem, yanking it up and over Nicholas's head, barely breaking the kiss for a moment as he tossed the garment over the TV. A moment later, his own shirt followed suit, this time Nicholas lunging at him to press his tongue against the side of Danny's neck, his lips sucking gently at exposed flesh.

Danny groaned, wrapping his arms around Nicholas's waist, as his friend knelt over his lap, his body tense as Danny's hands continued to roam freely over his body.

He gasped against Danny's collarbone as he felt his belt buckle come undone, the button and fly to his jeans following suit. He knew, kneeling like this, that his chief desire was probably at Danny's chest level, and this position left him totally unguarded from any attack Danny might make on him.

A moment later, all his concerns about positions and mechanics were thrown out the window, as Danny pushed him on his back, his head hitting a compressed pillow tucked against the arm rest of the couch. His pants disappeared rather unceremoniously, draped over the back of the couch as Danny moved forward, trailing kisses down Nicholas's front from his breast bone to the edge of his boxers, his hands massaging Nicholas's thighs.

Part of his brain was fighting back, making his hand dig almost painfully into Danny's shoulder, but he pushed it away, forgetting the pain of all his past girlfriends, burying the memory of Liam, denying that anyone else in the world mattered more than Daniel Butterman did in that moment and for all the others yet to come.

Nicholas felt the cool breeze of the fan blow across his naked body as Danny gently relieved him of his underwear, sitting back for a moment to drink in the sight laid out on his couch. Flushed, beautiful, and totally unreserved, Nicholas looked remarkable, like he'd imagined he would, in the few instances he'd allowed his dream-likeness to appear in his mind.

Danny blushed as Nicholas sat up suddenly, but his embarrassment was replaced with a deep groan as Nicholas flicked his tongue across Danny's left nipple, his fingers quickly hooking over the elastic of Danny's sweatpants and underwear, pulling them down at the same time. There was an awkward moment trying to get his britches off, as Danny was sitting on his own legs, and as he sat forward, allowing Nicholas to push his clothes down his legs, their mouths met in a heated kiss. The angle was odd, though, so that Danny had to push Nicholas back against the pillow and kneel over him, kicking his clothes off and letting them pool by the foot of the couch.

"Nick," Danny murmured, Nicholas a bundle of naked nerves coiled tightly beneath him in lieu of their current position. "S'alright, babe. I'll…I'll be nice."

There was a note of mischief in Danny's voice that set him to worrying, but it was forgotten when Danny's face disappeared from view, his mouth against Nicholas's belly and hand working slowly upward along his inner thigh the only indication of where he'd gone.

Without warning he felt wet heat envelope the head of his member, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, arching his spine almost painfully in silent approval, his lungs failing him completely. Danny's hands forced Nicholas's hips back down onto the couch, his mouth still working gently at the tip of Nicholas's erection, worrying the head a bit with his teeth until Nicholas whined with impatience. Nicholas felt Danny's laugh against his dick as his lips parted further and curved around his friend's girth, making slow passes up and down his length, his tongue pressing against the underside and lapping at the glans each time he reached the tip.

"Aaah, God…Danny, please," Nicholas whimpered, one hand clutching the edge of the couch as the other rested on the back of Danny's head. "I can't…I'm…_God_."

Danny understood; much more of this and Nicholas would be done, but he wasn't willing to stop yet. Instead, he relieved Nicholas's member of his mouth, a frustrated moan escaping Nicholas's lips before Danny was pressing his mouth there instead, suffocating the sound as he engulfed Nick's cock in his right fist.

The ferocious lip-lock allowed Danny to devour every sound Nicholas made, his languid strokes pulling all sorts of wonderful gasps and whimpers from the depths of Nicholas's soul. He could feel the intensity of Nicholas's climax building throughout his body, his lover bucking and writhing more desperately as Danny pinned him, keeping his body in check. Nicholas's breathing began to quicken, his cries becoming staccato, but the definition of the sounds was lost against Danny's tongue.

The meaning became clear when Nicholas's body leapt beneath him, spattering both their chests and coating Danny's hand in his fluid, and Danny finally allowed their lips to become unfastened so he could hear Nicholas's words as he came:

"I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you, Danny…"

Danny leaned forward and placed a fleeting kiss on Nicholas's forehead before reaching over to grab an odd napkin off the coffee table, making quick work of cleaning himself and Nicholas in turn. Sighing heavily, he flopped back against the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes as he caught his breath; he may not have been the one getting off, but any form of sexual activity was exciting business.

And things were about to get a bit more exciting.

His vision obscured, he only felt Nicholas sit up and come toward him on all four's, pausing when Danny didn't move his arm aside.

"Danny," he whispered, shifting his weight so he could push Danny's arm aside, "I…If it's alright, I want to…"

"Christ, really?" Danny whispered in reply, blushing furiously; he'd never really considered this, how far it would go, and he'd quite imagined Nicholas on the bottom. In retrospect, that was a silly idea; judging by Nicholas's personality type and need to be in control, he really couldn't see him giving over to another man, especially not him."

"We don't have to," Nicholas said hurriedly, blushing a deeper shade of red than Danny thought possible. "That is, I can see why you wouldn't want to, and-"

"Well, maybe I want do to," Danny teased, "But…I just never _have_ before, and-"

"I'll be nice," Nicholas smirked, repeating Danny's words, "And I _have_. But I won't make you, I swear, just say no, and that's fine. It's your choice."

"You sound like I'm a sodding girl," Danny giggled, pulling Nicholas down on top of him, becoming painfully aware of his own need when their bodies collided.

"Kee-_ryst_, Nick, _please_…" Danny panted, his tone changing so quickly it caught Nicholas somewhat off-guard.

He felt Nicholas grasp his left leg and lift it, until his foot hooked a tad bit awkwardly over the back of the couch, feeling Nicholas's jeans ghosting over his leg as Nicholas pulled something from them and tossed them aside. There was a sharp crinkling of plastic and a popping sound; so Nick had come prepared, eh? He wanted to laugh, to quiet his nerves maybe, but he was too afraid it would send Nicholas the wrong message, so he bit his lip and waited for…well, he wasn't really sure, actually.

Then Nicholas was kissing him, slow and gentle, his right hand pressing against the underside of Danny's left knee, as he used his left hand to gain leverage. Danny admitted to himself that it was quite uncomfortable, this kind of sex, but as Nicholas slid further in, his left hand took hold of Danny's cock and began making firm, languid strokes, so that he had trouble sorting out his exact feelings about the situations.

"Tell me if it hurts, babe," Nicholas murmured, leaning over Danny to kiss his mouth, his neck, his chest. Danny admired his flexibility and made a mental note to utilize it later.

"Yeah, a bit," Danny hissed, biting his bottom lip and pressing his eyes shut; Nicholas was not apparently one for foreplay, and as this was Danny's first time, he wasn't ready for the intrusion by any means.

Instead of pulling out, Nicholas pressed forward more slowly while he increased his attentions to Danny's cock, murmuring words of encouragement the entire time, until he was finally in, and Danny let out a sigh of relief.

"Jay-sus, Nicky," Danny gasped, trying to gain his bearings, clutching ferociously at Nicholas's shoulders, "D'you think next time_ you_ could bottom? I don't see what you lads find all that lovely about this…"

"Give it a minute," Nicholas nearly purred, the look on his face exquisite.

"For what? Am –_ah_" Danny began to joke, but Nicholas took the opportunity to press and pull, squeezing the tip of Danny's dick, rubbing the head with his thumb.

Something very good was happening inside his body, and Danny was hardly able to keep up with it; the angle Nicholas was at made for perfect, even strokes along Danny's prostate as their bodies fell into an easy rhythm. He threw his head back against the armrest of the couch, panting hard as waves of pleasure coursed through his veins, grabbing Nicholas's wrist and stilling its motions; if he kept stroking him, he wouldn't get the opportunity to really enjoy _this_, having Nick make love to him, to know what it felt like to be loved that much.

"God, Danny," Nicholas groaned, leaning low enough to press a fleeting kiss to the underside of Danny's jaw, "Talk to me, love."

"I…I fucking _can't_," Danny gasped, grabbing for Nicholas, "Oh God, just fuck me babe, please. I need you…"

"And I need you, Danny," Nicholas murmured, intensifying his thrusts, feeling Danny press back against him.

Danny arched his back, pressing his hands into the couch, lifting his hips to give Nicholas a better angle. He wanted him, just like this, the two of them locked in passionate sex for as long as they could hold out, panting and groaning and gasping in tandem, bodies aching and straining with each thrust in appreciation of the pleasure and anticipation of more, more, always more if they could get it.

The ache was changing, though, rising to the surface, and Danny could feel himself slipping over the edge even before he could tell Nicholas he was there.

"_Aaah, Nick!_" Danny cried, feeling himself tip briefly into darkness before coming back to earth, still gasping from the mind-altering pleasure of his orgasm.

Nicholas twitched and choked, gasping almost painfully at his second orgasm in such a short period of time, grasping the ring of his condom and pulling out before collapsing on top of Danny.

They lay together, gasping and lost for words, their bodies woven together in a mass of racing hearts and exhausted limbs, the after-glow of sex radiating brightly in the dark room.

"I love you," Nicholas whispered as he caught his breath, "I love you so much, Danny, and I needed you to know."

"That's quite the way you have," Danny teased. After a moment, he asked, "D'you get tongue-tied a lot, Nicky?"

"…No, why?" Nicholas replied, managing to hoist his head an inch to look at Danny inquisitively.

"Damn," Danny smirked, "If that's the only sure-fire way into your pants, I may just have to get you a gag."


	14. Chapter 14

**TITLE:** If Protocol Allows (14/14)

**PROMPT:** Crystal Clear

**RATING:** PG

**PAIRING: **Nicholas/Danny

**SUMMARY:** The Neighborhood Watch has been done away with and the village has cooled down, but while Nick is doing his best to 'shut off' and connect, Danny is trying to 'turn on,' but is it really what Nick wants anymore? And what will the new day bring?

**WARNINGS:** This chapter includes fluff and tears.

**DISCLAIMER:** No 1337 pwnzors, I swears on the Precious.

Nicholas stroked Danny's cheek gently with the tips of his fingers as he lay beside him. They'd moved awkwardly from the living room to Danny's bed, reapplying underwear for vanity's sake, yet with a hint of reluctance.

Now, with the early-morning darkness beginning to break just outside the thinly-curtained bedroom windows, sending a pale caste of blue over the room, Nicholas couldn't help but sigh, curled against Danny's sleeping form, letting the rise and fall of Danny's lungs rock him gently where he lay.

He could remember, looking back, only one other moment like this in his life. It was like looking on the face of completion, finding something you didn't even know you were looking for, but then it's _there_, and all you can do is cling to it and cherish it, because you never know when it will fly away.

His heart yearned for Danny, so intensely that he felt a tear flash at the corner of his eye and fall to the pillow before he could stop it.

The tear was partially his relief, his heart shedding the cold armor and accepting this love for what it was, but part of it was for Danny, because Nicholas ruined people. He brought them down, because he was so good; he would push himself to keep them safe, simultaneously pushing them down, not because he wanted to shine, but because he was so afraid to fall, so afraid of what they would lose in him if he were to be 'only human.'

He told himself Danny wanted it this way. He _needed _to believe that he, just as he was, was good enough, whether he had the fastest moves and the best skills, and whether he was strong or weak. That would be enough for Danny.

It would be enough for Nicholas.

He already knew Danny's faults. He loved each of them, as they were, and would never stand to see him change, nor would he suffer the judgments of others on Danny in any thing that he did. Those imperfections, his love of cartooning and action movies, his tomfoolery and boyish nature, and the wisdom he seemed to carry in the face of unerring innocence, those things _made_ him perfect.

At least, perfect for Nicholas.

Nicholas pressed a kiss to Danny's temple, watching his partner smile softly and murmur in his sleep, his hands holding fast to Nicholas's hips, as they had been since he'd realized Nicholas would lie with him. It hadn't taken Danny long to fall asleep, but before he had, he'd laid his head beside Nicholas's, studying his expression, that same sweet smile playing lazily across his glowing features.

"Are you alright?" Nicholas had asked, brushing damp locks from Danny's forehead.

"M'fine," Danny had sighed, "Better'n fine, really, Nick."

"I'm glad," Nicholas whispered, "I'm glad I'm here with you."

"Just promise me something," Danny murmured, his hands straying from Nicholas's hip for a moment to cup Nicholas's face.

"What is it?" Nicholas breathed, concern marring his face for a moment.

"Promise me…you'll be here…when I wake up?" Danny asked, stroking Nicholas's cheek, a hint of fear in his eyes.

"I promise I won't leave you," Nicholas said, his voice soft but his tone firm, as he tangled his fingers in Danny's damp hair and brought him in for a gentle, languid kiss, their tongues teasing each other slowly between barely-parted lips before breaking away slowly.

He'd gazed into Danny's eyes until they were firmly cloaked by his eyelids, his breathing becoming steady and deep, but Nicholas couldn't sleep. Part of him needed this moment, only the second in his entire life, to last as long as it could. Part of him was terrified it wasn't even real.

The sun continued to climb in the sky, now bathing the bed in its warm glow, making pools of color splash brilliantly along the rises and valleys of the sheets, dancing along the curves of their bodies, wrapping them in its radiance. The shadows on Nicholas's face disappeared in its light, as the sun turned the pale blue it had placed on Danny like a death veil into the warm pinks and reds of life, his breathing just as even and reassuring as if no such transformation had ever occurred.

"Danny," Nicholas whispered, speaking to his partner as he slept. He wanted to say what he was thinking when Danny awoke, but he was too afraid, unwilling to release control, to shut off _completely_.

"I wish there was a way for me to love you better," he continued, sure now from his first utterance's lack of effect that Danny wouldn't rouse, "I wish there was a way for me to be the man you think I am. You…people look at me as if I've never had a fault, as if I can be the strongest and the bravest, as if I'll never fail. I know I've seen it in your eyes.

"I'm not blaming you of anything, and I'm not asking you to stop idolizing me, because I don't think it would deter you in the least, even though it should. Because, Danny, deep down, underneath all the gear and the uniform and the paperwork and the protocol, I'm just an insignificant little man from Kensington who's afraid of the ocean and other people's blood. And I'm terrified of letting you down."

"S'a silly thing to say," Danny murmured, his eyelids barely flickering.

Nicholas froze, his blood turning to sludge in his veins, realizing Danny had been awake through the whole sappy business. As if sensing this, even through his half-sleep haze, Danny tightened his hold around Nicholas's waist and pulled him in close, pressing a kiss to Nicholas's collarbone, tucking his head under Nicholas's chin.

"From the moment I saw you," Danny breathed in words almost too soft to be real, "I knew…you were everything I ever wanted to be, Nick, and everything I ever wanted. It was crystal clear to me, the moment you first smiled for real, and not some silly pressed-lip trash, that you were the most brilliant thing in the whole world.

"And I used to think…I used to think that it was _me_ who wasn't good enough, that you'd never see past the fumbling, and I'd always have you at arm's length. But that would've been good enough, you know? For me, leastways, it would have been good enough."

"But," Nicholas choked, "What do I do…if I can't save you? From…people, from _them_, from _me?_"

Danny lifted his head free and shifted slightly away, making Nicholas's heart leap into his throat, his certainty that Danny would leave so overwhelming that he didn't realize at first that Danny was actually looking down at him, propped on his elbow, smiling that mischievous grin that made Nicholas want to pull him down and kiss him into unconsciousness for the love of him.

"Fuck them," Danny snorted, his hand resting on Nicholas's rib cage, rubbing his side in small, soothing circles. "An' risin't a thing you could do that could hurt me, Nick, not now, not…except…losing you."


End file.
